Divergent Paths
by Pakmai
Summary: John wakes up to find himself in the past. His past. With some minor differences. And worst of all - no Sherlock. Will they be able to find each other again? If they do, will it be business as usual, or will some sparks turn into flames? Or will things be too different, keeping the two apart permanently? University!Sherlock, Sherlock/John. NOW COMPLETE!
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything Sherlock.**

**This is a weird idea that I came up with, that at first I was going to make a one-shot. But then.. it kind of ran away with me. So maybe I'll just have to limit it to a few chapters. Of course, I say that, but I already have an idea of where I want this to go, and knowing me, it will last more than a few chapters. Hope no one minds!**

**Reviews/comments welcome!**

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With a small groan and a realization that John should not have spent the night on the couch, he rolls onto his back, wincing a little as he lifts a hand to rub it across his forehead. After taking a deep breath and thinking he hears some shuffling around, he says, "Sherlock, don't suppose you could be bothered to grab me a glass of water?" he asks to the air, and when there's no answer, he sighs. "Sherlock?" He asks, opening his eyes and sitting up. At first he doesn't take in his surroundings, but finally he notices that not only is the flat bare of a certain consulting detective, it's a completely different flat. Panicked, John tries to remember if he drank last night or went home with someone without realizing it. But no, he distinctly remembers falling asleep on the couch.

It had been an odd few days, with John going with Sherlock to his parents' for Christmas. The implications that they were a couple, which was embarrassing and far from the truth. But with all the stories the ex army doctor realized that he wished he could have been there to help Sherlock when he was younger. To be a friend to him. Even if it was only through University which seemed to be the man's hardest time, and where he picked up his drug habit. If John could have saved him from that just by being his friend, how amazing could the man have become?

And almost immediately after coming home, they had a case. Murder doesn't stop for the holidays afterall. And they were running all around London, until they finally caught the killer, who turned out to be a young man, university age actually. And of course that made John wonder about Sherlock, how easily it would have been for that brilliant mind to turn to crime, instead of becoming the world's only consulting detective. Those were the thoughts in his head when he fell asleep, and now he's waking up in a place that is definitely not Baker Street, and strangely devoid of said consulting detective.

Pulling himself together, John gets up off the couch, realizing he's not quite as stiff as he should have been even if his shoulder does hurt a bit. He moves through the small flat, being able to check the kitchen/sitting room area at a glance since they are only separated by a small counter area at the kitchen, the one bedroom and bathroom are next. After that, and establishing that he is the only one there, John starts to go through some mail he found on the table, finding it all addressed to him. A few bills and a few ads.

Deciding that it's high time he puts to use some of the skills that Sherlock taught him, he looks around the flat. It's neat, everything in its place, organized just the way John would organize things. The bed is made with military precision, there was an old army duffel in the closet. So, he definitely lives here. Looking around, he finds some medical books on the coffee table like the ones he used in Uni and upon closer inspection he finds out they are the exact same books he used when he was in Uni. That, along with some notebooks that have class notes in them and are labeled for each class that he's taking leads him to believe that he's not a doctor yet, he's still in medical school.

Taking a slow, deep breath, John nods a little before he puts a hand into the collar of his shirt, feeling the scar tissue there, he lets out the breath he had been holding. Right, so was still shot in Afghanistan, but wasn't an Army doctor. Deciding to splash some water on his face and calm himself down, the doctor walks toward the bathroom and does just that, but it's when he looks up at the mirror that he gets the shock of his lifetime. And under normal circumstances he might be worried about having a heart attack. The face he sees looking back at him in the mirror is one that he hasn't seen for 15 years. Some of the lines and weathering in his face are gone, his hair doesn't have a trace of gray just the normal sort of sandy blonde that he's always had. He's still in excellent shape physically, that much is apparent. His skin is still tanned, obviously from time overseas. After the initial shock starts fading, he feels the press of memories that were thus far held back by his slight panic.

Bracing himself with a hand on either side of the sink, John lowers his head and starts taking a few deep breaths as the memories slip through his mind. His childhood matches up with what he remembers, but it's when he sees an army recruiting office that things change. Instead of considering that as a future career after medicine, he thinks that it's a good idea to sign up at 18, and then let the army pay for his schooling after serving for 5 years. So he manages to be just another soldier, albeit still a crack shot which leads him to be sent out on some more special missions. He gets some training with the medics, where he's allowed to assist if he's not needed for a mission.

That lasts for 3 1/2 years, before he gets shot in the shoulder, in a similar situation to the first time, trying to save his best friend's life. He gets invalided home, spends six months in rehabilitation to get the strength and mobility back in his healing shoulder. And now, it's three years later and the army is paying for John's medical school as they promised. He'll never be a surgeon, because of the slight tremor in his hand, but then his fingers never really had the dexterity for that in the first place. He could still be a good doctor however. He stopped seeing his therapist a year ago, and his leg only bothers him once in a while, the psychosomatic limp having disappeared after a year, thank God.

And he just got fired from his last job, not because of anything he did wrong, but because the shop was planning to close down in the next few months so they're downsizing their staff. And since John is one of the newest employees, he's the first to go.

Glad that there's no one there to see him, John takes a deep breath and slowly slides down the wall of the bathroom to sit on the cold tile. That makes him 25, a University student studying medicine. It means he's never met Sherlock, all of their adventures never happened. And in a way, he's starting to think he might be a bit loony. Either this is a coma induced dream, or Sherlock finally drove him round the bend.

Never let it be said that Dr. John H. Watson wasn't a fighter. After a moment of absorbing everything, the disparate memories fighting for dominance in his head, the doctor tilts his head back against the wall and lets a few tears slip from his eyes as he mourns the loss of his best friend, and their mad adventures around London.

Not sure how long he managed to sit there, John finally stands up, strips out of his clothes and takes a hot shower, letting it relax him for a few moments as he thinks about Sherlock, feeling like it's the Fall all over again, that he's lost his best friend. The difference is, he knows that he might still exist, that he might be able to find the madman. But of course there's no guarantee that if Sherlock is out there he'll want to be friends with John or want anything to do with him at all. The first time they only met because they each needed a flatmate, and John had the fact that he was an ex army doctor on his side. Squaring his shoulders, the doctor frowns at the bathroom tiles in front of him. No, he can't think like that. He will do what he wished he could have at Christmas. The classes he has should be easy since he's taken them once before, so what spare time he has, he will find another job and then find his best friend, find some way to convince Sherlock that he needs John as a friend. Knowing him already may help in that, but it may also make the younger man suspicious that he works for Mycroft. It's going to be a very fine line for him to walk.

Stepping out of the shower, John dries himself off, then goes to collect clothes, arching an eyebrow as he sees the selection. Jeans and khakis, well-fitting from the looks of them, t-shirts, a few jumpers and sweatshirts. Not a button-up in sight. Interesting. With a little shrug, John grabs some khakis, grabbing a t-shirt and, judging from the outside weather, he grabs a jumper and pulls it on as well.

First, he needs a job, and to finish his homework, then he can think about his consulting detective.

"Don't worry, Sherlock. You won't be alone this time."


	2. Chapter 2

Homework is a breeze which is amusing to John considering how many problems he had with some of the stuff the first time around. And it takes a few days but he finally finds a decent job at a coffee shop not too far from his university. The people he works with are nice enough and he soon falls into a rhythm at work, usually the one mixing/making the drinks rather than at the till.

But that doesn't mean he's not active in other ways. He tries to look up his old friends, see where they might be. Mrs. Hudson is still at Baker Street, though with her husband who is out of the country most of the time. Lestrade is just a Sergeant at the moment, and he hasn't been able to find Molly, figuring that she's probably still in University somewhere.

John goes to work that morning with the expectation it would be like any other day. He should really get used to the fact that the moment you start getting comfortable, the world throws you another curveball. He's just wiping down the counter in between customers, re-organizing his supplies to put them in easy reach, when he hears a very familiar voice which causes him to snap his head up in surprise.

Sherlock is standing there, though he looks almost nothing like the man that John knows. He's still a tall, lanky bastard but besides the scarf his clothing is entirely different. He's still got the slightly shaggy curls, eyes taking in everything as they look over John. But he's wearing jeans, converse trainers and a wool jacket that barely falls to his knees. He looks much more posh than he even does in his long coat, which at the moment the ex soldier sorely misses.

"Large coffee, black-"

"Two sugars." John finishes, not able to help himself, then he turns a bit red, clearing his throat. "It'll be just a moment." he says quietly before he turns away from the younger man. He feels like his heart is pounding out of his chest and he takes a deep breath to try and calm himself as he prepares Sherlock's coffee just the way he likes it, not even having to think about it. He puts the top on the to-go cup before he turns and looks at the man.

As soon as the older, unassuming man turns back with his coffee, Sherlock gets a better look at him. There's no way he should know how the younger man likes his coffee. And yet he does, and he said it with familiarity. "Have we met before?" Sherlock hates asking that question because he has near perfect memory, but for someone to know him that well... points to a stalker mostly.

Looking a little embarrassed, John clears his throat. "No. I just started here. Er... The others just told me about you, that's all. You come in here quite a lot and you make quite the impression." he says as he looks Sherlock over for a moment, blushing lightly.

"You're rather young to be an ex-soldier, joined up right out of high school, as a bit of rebellion." Sherlock pauses, glancing John over. "No, not rebellion. It was for financial reasons. You wanted the monetary assistance. Something must have happened. Injury?" He guesses, then considers. "But still, why would you be working as a barista of all things? Many private security firms are looking for soldiers, plus you're still young. This can't be providing much monetary assistance for you." The detective says swiftly before he looks at John before he lets out a secretive little smile that tells the older man he just figured something out and is feeling very clever. "Ohhh.. I see." he says as he finally reaches out to take the coffee. "Judging by the way you're holding yourself and that you use your right hand more even though your left is your dominant hand, you were invalided home, leaving you with a pension but the army is still paying for your education, as promised." A pause, "Doctor, what a noble pursuit." He says thoughtfully. "How interesting." he notes before he puts a bill on the counter.

Not being able to help himself, John just grins a little as he watches Sherlock deduce him. "Brilliant. Absolutely amazing." He says as he looks at the detective, then he motions toward the money. "You pay down there." he says with a little smirk. "Have a nice day, sir." he says with a little smirk, knowing that the best way to get the detective to come back is to keep him interested. Mentally, he shakes his head at how much like a teenage girl he just sounded, and he can't keep a small chuckle from coming out.

The detective smirks a little. "That is for you, not for the coffee." he says as he slides the five pound bill across the counter. "A pleasure to meet you, John." he says before he sweeps off down the line toward the till, paying for his coffee. When he takes the first sip of his coffee, his eyebrows go up, looking over to where John is helping another customer, finding him very intriguing, easily paying for his coffee.

Watching Sherlock walk out of the coffee shop and not going after him is probably one of the hardest things John has ever had to do, but that doesn't mean he doesn't watch the other man every step of the way, smiling and thinking, 'You'll be back, Sherlock Holmes. You never could resist a mystery.'

The one thing that John didn't anticipate was just how soon he was going to see Sherlock again. He works the closing shift, meaning it's just him and one other person with keys who close up. "See you tomorrow." He says with a little wave, before he turns to walk down the street back toward his flat. Somehow, he's not even surprised when he sees a familiar lean figure at the mouth to an alley, a cigarette between his lips.

"Those things will kill you, you know." John says with a little smirk as he sees the younger man but he keeps walking, letting the taller man match his pace.

"How did you know how I liked my coffee?" Sherlock asks as he matches John's pace, taking another drag of his cigarette before tapping the ash off, watching the man beside him who has wormed his way into the detective's thoughts so easily.

"Well, I am a rather amazing barista." John says with a small chuckle before he reaches out, taking the cigarette from Sherlock, taking a long draw on it before he tosses it on the ground and uses one foot to stamp it out, exhaling softly before he glances over at the taller man. "Are you going to turn into my stalker now?" He asks curiously, then adds, "I don't even know your name." He says innocently, lifting a hand to run it through his hair.

Looking a little surprised when the cigarette is stolen, Sherlock's eyebrows go up. "You should know better, if you're going to be a doctor." he scolds lightly, sliding his hands into his coat pockets. "Sherlock Holmes." He supplies as he continues walking. "You don't know just how to make good coffee. I saw the recognition on your face, you knew how to make MY coffee. Perhaps I should be asking if YOU are stalking ME."

John chuckles a little. "Right. Maybe I am stalking you. Tall, handsome, a bit posh. Yeah, you're stalker-worthy. Shame about the attitude though." He jokes, laughing when he gets an incredulous look from the younger man, putting a hand over his mouth. "Bloody hell, your face!" He says with a little shake of his head.

In a word, the feeling going through the younger man is shocked. Sherlock cannot quite believe what the man just said to him. "Well, you didn't seem to have a problem with my attitude earlier.. what is it you said? Brilliant?" He counters as he looks at John, finding himself quite enjoying this little tet-a-tet.

"Well, you have to admit that your deductions back there were exactly that. I'd love to hear a full explanation of how you came up with it. You were spot on, of course." John says with a little smile as he looks at the younger man.

Sherlock considers everything for a few moments, confused and intrigued by the man next to him, but he looks around and continues walking, quickly figuring out where they are. "Dinner?" He proposes with a slight smile.

"Starving."

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**Well, John is a little more flirty than I expected, but I couldn't resist. Since he knows everything for once and Sherlock knows so little.**

**Hope you're all enjoying this, not sure how much I'll update it, but I do plan on continuing it!**

**Comments/reviews welcome!**


	3. Chapter 3

The walk to the Chinese restaurant isn't a long one, and it's spent in silence, John refusing to say anything else to the man next to him, but he can't keep a little smile off of his face, a small thrill going through him at the fact that he is once again walking next to his best friend. Well, his former best friend, but he hopes to reclaim that position. And so far it's working rather well. Hopefully whatever Sherlock Holmes found so intriguing in him in the first place was more than his medical expertise.

"I can always tell the best Chinese restaurants by the bottom third of the door handle." Sherlock says after they're seated, and he hangs his coat along the back of the chair, leaving him in what appears to be a t-shirt and hoodie.

Of course, seeing his wardrobe just makes John chuckle softly as he takes his seat as well next to the man, watching him curiously. "Oh? Bottom third? I guess we'll see if you're right after we order." he says casually, as much as he wanted to say 'I know you can, you bloody madman', he has to keep those comments to himself for now. Though he knows eventually he'll have to tell Sherlock, John knows he won't be able to fool the detective forever. Doesn't mean he can't enjoy it while he has the opportunity. "So? How did you do all that back in the shop?" he asks finally, knowing the other won't waste an opportunity to show off. Surely even though he's younger, something as basic as that stays the same. Frailty of genius, Sherlock told him on their first case, it needs an audience.

After a brief glance at the menu, Sherlock sits back in his chair, steepling his fingers in front of his face as he looks John over for a moment. "Haircut and the way you hold yourself says military. You're still relatively young, I'd say around 25 or 26, which means in order to be in and out of the army already you would have had to join straight out of high school. Statistically speaking it's probable that it was a bit of rebellion. Something about your home life you weren't happy with." He begins rapidly talking, barely pausing for breathing, but he does take a breath as he considers what to choose next to explain. "But you don't seem the sort to rebel. You have too.." he trails off, waving his hand about in John's general direction. "Too gentle a nature. The only other reason for a man like you to join the army would be a financial one. So far, so obvious."

Marveling once again at how his best mate's mind works, John just shakes his head a little. "Amazing." he says in a slightly breathless way, shaking his head again for a moment with another little smile. "Go on, I know you've got more than just that in you." he says with an almost eager look on his face.

The look and the comment cause Sherlock to do a little bit of a double take as he looks at the older man next to him, brows drawing together in a slightly confused way as he tries to figure him out, then he nods quietly and takes a deep breath, ready to continue. "So you were in the Army, you're not the sort to give up on your responsibilities and just quit something like that, plus the tan says you've been abroad, but not sunbathing since it isn't above your wrists or below your neck." he says as he indicates each one. "Deployed overseas, then. We have no major conflicts overseas that I'm aware of, but I don't really keep tabs on that sort of thing. Still, there are enough enemies and radicals out there that the only way you could have been out of the army after being deployed overseas is to be invalided home. So you were shot." A small shrug indicates that he thinks this deduction is painfully simple. "Which brings us onto the location of your wound, left shoulder. The calluses on your hand indicate you write with your left hand, but when you were making the coffee you used your right more prominently. A certain amount of ambidextrousness could be possible, but not the way you hold that shoulder, more stiffly than the other. You're just recovering from a wound, then, and one that was severe enough you could not use your left hand for a prolonged amount of time, leading you to compensate by learning to use the right for most things." he says as he points with two fingers to shoulder, then right and left arms as he goes through, leaning forward toward John now, eager to continue.

Unfortunately that's just about the time the waiter comes around, and John looks up in surprise, chuckling. "Right. Sorry." he says to the waiter, glancing at the menu before giving his order, and looking at Sherlock expectantly. The younger man seems reluctant but he gives his order, perhaps not wanting to be seen as abnormal around his new fascination.

When the waiter has left, John smirks a little as he looks over at Sherlock. "You're spot on so far." He reassures with another smile. "I was shot in the shoulder. It was a mistake, really, I was trying to help a young girl and they thought it was assault, so they shot me." He chuckles. "I was bloody lucky that they were such a bad shot." He admits, touching his shoulder for a moment and rubbing at an unconscious pain that isn't really there, then he looks over at Sherlock, dropping his hand. "Alright, then. I got invalided home, I am getting a pension and the army is paying for my schooling. How did you know I was medical?" he asks curiously as he watches Sherlock, intrigued by this more than anything.

Sherlock looks for all the world like this is the best, most interesting bit and deduction that he could have made, if the little 'I'm being clever' smile on his face is anything to go by. "Ahh.. that, that was a bit more difficult. You were a university student, that much is obvious, but where? Where would you be studying, someplace close to the coffee shop clearly. You wouldn't want to travel too far from work or your flat in case you're running late, though given how cheaply you would have to live it's likely that the flat is farther away than the university is. There are only a few university's and even fewer that the army would pay for your studies at. Taking into account your personality and how concerned I saw you were when your coworker got burned, and what precision you used when telling her what to do to keep it from progressing any further, I thought doctor was most likely. And considering that St. Bart's teaching hospital was nearby, that only cemented my conclusion." Finally he lets out a breath and takes a deeper one as he continues to watch John closely, narrowing his eyes a little. "Did I get anything wrong?" he asks as he watches the older man.

Completely amused throughout the entire little speech, John is nodding by the end, laughing softly even. "Amazing. Absolutely.. Amazing. Brilliant, Sherlock." he says with a small grin. "You're right, I am studying to be a doctor, probably a GP since I don't have the manual dexterity to be a surgeon, not after my shoulder." he says as he shifts it unconsciously, fidgeting with his silverware for a moment before he looks back up into the piercing, mercurial eyes of his former flatmate, smiling a little again. "But the doctor thing was pretty much a guess, wasn't it?" He asks with a little smile.

Considering for a few moments, Sherlock nods quietly. "A bit. It was a good guess though." he defends with a little smile and then a low chuckle, one of those that he feels he can never quite suppress, looking down at the table for a few moments before he looks up at John. "No one has ever called my deductions Amazing before." He admits quietly, trying to hide the little bit of insecurity in that statement.

Unable to help himself, John reaches out and puts his hand on top of Sherlock's, thumb stroking the soft skin of the other man's hand. "Well they were. Amazing, I mean. You must be an absolute genius." he says quietly as he looks at him. "To see all of that, to observe all of that, pick up the small clues and put them all together like that. The amount of knowledge you would need in order to read the signs alone is baffling." He can't help how in awe he sounds of the younger man, shaking his head but squeezing his hand. Slowly, he ducks his head a little to look straight into Sherlock's eyes. "Never let anyone tell you different, yeah?" He says in a firm tone before he draws back slowly, pulling his hand back as well.

Quick as lightning, Sherlock recaptures John's hand, watching the startled look come over his face, while he leans forward a little, staring into John's eyes. "How do you know me?" He asks in a firm, yet quiet tone. "You didn't seem surprised at my deductions, it was almost like you were expecting them, eager for them. You knew I couldn't resist showing off a bit by explaining my deductions. And you seemed almost.. proud.. when I got everything right. This is not the behavior of someone who just met me. No one has ever behaved that way toward me. Ever. You know me, somehow. There is something that I am missing. What is it?" he demands quietly, giving John's hand a little squeeze.

Startled but not displeased by the fact that his hand was snatched up so quickly in the cool hand of the detective, John just smiles softly as he looks back into those blue-green eyes. He knew it wouldn't last forever, but he didn't expect Sherlock to pick things up quite that quickly. Maybe the drugs really did effect him, or maybe it was just the effect of wisdom and age, head getting too crowded with other things. Either way, he seemed particularly sharp this evening, enough for John to be concerned and take a second look at him. Breathing steady. Heartbeat steady. No clamminess of the skin, just normal cool dryness. No abnormal pupil dilation. Good. He's not on any sort of drugs, then.

It takes a few moments more until John can organize his thoughts, looking away from the piercing gaze of his friend in order to stare at the tabletop. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you.. I'm not sure I believe me. It all sounds a bit mad. I've considered that this might be a delusion brought on by a coma. Or maybe I'm just in a loony bin somewhere, in a straight jacket and a room with padded walls." he gives a short, humorless laugh at that thought, then looks back at Sherlock sadly. "But you, the scientist, you wouldn't believe me." Shaking his head a little, John sighs and takes a deep breath, holding the other's gaze.

"Wouldn't I? When you've eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbably, must be the truth." Sherlock says as he looks at John. "If you know me, somehow, then surely you would know if your conclusion is the only possible one, that this is of course real, and I am fairly certain I could discount any other possibilities, then it must be the truth and that I would see that." he points out, eagerly wanting to know how this fascinating ex soldier knows about him.

Considering everything for a few seconds, John realizes that his hand is still held in that of the detective's, and more shocking, he realizes that he doesn't even care. Looking at the man in front of him now, he's not worried about people thinking they're in a relationship or they're gay. He honestly does not care one bit. And he has to admit that Sherlock has always had a certain attractive quality to him, it's obvious to everyone, straight or gay, male or female. He has quite the striking figure and features. Not to mention his eyes, and that voice! There's nothing like being wrapped up in a cocoon of warmth and decadence only to realize that you're being torn to shreds by that very same tone.

Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, the ex doctor (for now), ex soldier, looks at the man in front of him, and leans forward, the stillness gone. "Alright. I'll tell you, but I don't want to tell you here, it's just.. it doesn't seem.. like the proper place. But-" And he holds up his free hand, index finger extended. "I want to ask you one question first. And I want an honest answer. It's something you've never told me, and I never pried, but I've always been quite curious about." He says in a firm tone as he watches the younger man.

For a few moments, it's quite obvious that Sherlock is thinking over all the possible questions it may be, how bad or good they each could be and weighs the pros and cons of revealing each bit of information. Apparently he decides that whatever John has to ask is worth it. "Alright. What is the question? I will answer as truthfully as I can." he offers as he watches the other man.

Quite pleased with that answer, John smiles and he nods quietly, shifting in his chair. Of course, asking the question in theory and asking it in reality are two very different things and he finds he's having a bit more problem with asking it in reality. Clearing his throat, John looks over at Sherlock quite seriously, opens his mouth, closes it, purses his lips, takes a deep breath again and squares his shoulders before he levels Sherlock with a serious gaze.

"What is your sexual orientation?"

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**Sooo.. I finished Episode 2 of Series 3, and this is what came out. I think this is the best writing I've done of Sherlock's deductions, I'm normally rubbish at it. Though when I was writing this, I did feel a bit possessed. :D**

**Will Sherlock accept John's explanations of how the doctor knows the detective? Or will poor John be completely rejected?**

**THANK YOU to everyone who has reviewed. Gosh, I'm so flattered that you all like this so much. And for those of you who have read my other stuff, I'm glad that story wasn't a 'one hit wonder' for you. It never ceases to amaze me how nice, and responsive you guys are.**

**Hope you enjoy this, reiews/comments welcome! I am so excited every time I see a new review in my inbox. :)**


	4. Chapter 4

Of all the things that John could have asked, all the possibilities that went through Sherlock's mind, that question, of his sexual orientation, is not one that crossed his mind even for a moment. So instead he just stares at John for a moment, slowly blinking as his mind tries to work through that. "I don't think I have one." he says simply, then he considers, taking a deep breath. "Let me clarify. I can appreciate beauty in either gender. I know what makes a man attractive and what makes a woman attractive. As far as being attracted to a person specifically? Ironically, I find that I must be attracted to their mind, their personality, before their physical form arouses any sort of sexual interest in me." He says quietly as he watches John, that little pinched look appearing between his eyebrows as he tries to figure John out.

Nodding a little to himself, John takes a deep breath, giving Sherlock's hand a little squeeze since the younger man has yet to let go. "Right. Ok. Thought it might be something like that. Actually, no." he shakes his head, closing his eyes for a moment. "Actually, I thought you were asexual." he says before he sighs, knowing he shouldn't mention the Woman, not knowing if they might run into her again and not wanting to influence that meeting.

With another small, low chuckle, Sherlock gives John an almost sultry look for a moment. "Oh, I assure you, John, I have a perfectly healthy sex drive. It would be much easier if I didn't, actually, seeing as I can't find anyone who will put up with me for more than five minutes." He says casually, thumb rubbing against the back of John's hand slowly, realizing he has yet to let go.

And that was a little too far for John's comfort, finding himself blushing a bright shade of red. Clearing his throat, he scratches the back of his head and nods a little. "Right. Well. Good to know." He says with a small nod of his head. "Well, shall we eat, and then you can decide whether to go to your flat or mine for my little explanation?" he says as he slowly removes his hand from the other man's, just as the food comes over.

Of course, leave it up to Sherlock to throw a wrench in the works. Turning to the waiter, he smiles a little. "I'm sorry, but could we just have two take-away containers?" he asks, holding out his card to the young man. "And please run our check." he says before he gives a look to John which the waiter interprets the way that Sherlock wanted him to, if the server's little smile is anything to go on.

All of this just leaves the doctor sputtering a little, and he finally frowns at Sherlock. "Sherlock..." he says in an exasperated tone. "You can't even wait through dinner for your explanation, can you? Blimey, I hope it's still warm by the time we get to the flat.. whichever you want to go to. Nevermind, I know the answer to that, you're going to say mine. Because it's closer, though I don't know if it really is." he says with a shake of his head, running a hand through his hair, which just makes it stand up in a slightly spiky mess.

Smirking slightly at the older man, Sherlock shrugs a little. "I assure you, yours is closer, so if you want the food still to be warm, then yes, we will be going to your flat. Why did you assume I would say yours, though?" he asks, curious as he looks at John, taking the take-away containers from the server who comes by, handing them dismissively to John before he signs the receipt and takes his card back.

"Because in my flat, you'll be able to find out more information about me without me telling you a word. You'll just deduce it." John points out with a little smirk as he looks at Sherlock, obediently putting their food into the containers and closing them up, before he gets up and puts his coat on, waiting for the detective before he picks up the containers. "I never thought I'd miss your Belstaff." He mutters as he watches Sherlock put on his odd little jacket.

"Belstaff?" Sherlock asks in surprise, arching an eyebrow as he wraps his scarf around his neck with practiced ease, then walks toward the door. "Rather expensive choice in coat, though now that you mention it, there is one type I have had my eye on.." he admits thoughtfully as he looks over at John. "Interesting." he says as they get outside and Sherlock waits for John to turn in the right direction before following him.

"Yeah. Can't imagine you going without one for long, to be honest." John says with a little smile, then he shakes his head. "But that's sort of neither here nor there. I guess that comment seems confusing until I explain everything to you.." The doctor says thoughtfully as they keep walking, and he finally turns to a building, unlocking the outer door to let them in before he goes upstairs to his flat, the lift apparently being broken. Once he gets there, he unlocks his door and lets Sherlock in. "It's not much, but it's all I need, really.. I'll make us some tea." He offers, not even thinking about it as he pulls out two mugs and prepares them as he waits for the tea to boil, pulling out forks for their food.

When he returns to the kitchen with the tea and everything, John glances around, finding Sherlock by one of the bookcases. "For goodness' sake, Sherlock. Take off your jacket, relax, you're going to be here a while." he says with a little shake of his head. "I have a feeling it'll take a while to explain everything, and then answer what I'm sure will be about a million questions."

Sherlock scoffs at that, but he removes his scarf and coat nonetheless, sitting down on the couch across from John's chair, taking his food and starting to eat, eyeing the cup of tea skeptically, but he doesn't question how John knows how he likes his tea. At least he doesn't question it just yet. "Alright. Explain." he says after a few bites of food.

Sighing a little as he has a few moments to eat, John can't help but smile. "You were right about the Chinese place." he notes before he chuckles a little, sitting back. "You said it seemed as if I knew you. Well I do. Sort of. Not this you." he says as he motions to Sherlock. "I have the memories from an entirely different life, if you can believe that. We met when we were both older, and I did things a bit differently. Anyway, we became flatmates, and we'd been working together for years. Then one say I sat down on the sofa, fell asleep, and woke up here, with brand new set of memories from this life." He says quietly, sighing a little in frustration. "Everyone I knew, all my friends.. none of them know me anymore. And you, you were my best friend, a man I trusted with my life, and you don't know a bloody thing about me anymore. It's frustrating. I never knew much about your time in university, you were always a bit closed off about your past. I had no idea where to even find you.." He then chuckles a little, grinning at Sherlock. "And then there you are, ordering a coffee without a bloody care in the world, as my world basically came crashing down the moment I saw your face. Yeah, I shouldn't have said the two sugars bit, it might have been better to keep all of this from you." He admits before he sighs. "To be honest, you took me to Christmas at your parents' house a month ago.. and I remember thinking then that I wished I had known you when you were younger, so that I could have spared you some pain and ridicule, and a few other things. Never expected it to actually happen."

Taking all of this in as he eats, Sherlock considers. "Fascinating. If it weren't for your knowledge and the fact that we did not know eachother before this afternoon, I would think that you were mentally ill, yes." Sherlock agrees as he looks at John. "But you know things that you have no way of knowing. The way I take my coffee and tea, the ease with which you make it. Your comfort with my deductions." He lists off a few of them, before he continues. "I must admit, I am not used to someone knowing so much more about me than I know about them." He says quietly as he looks at John. "But it is.. not entirely unpleasant. I take it you were trustworthy or I would not have shared a flat with you. That also means that you must be aware of my.. eccentricities. And yet you still consider me a friend. A close friend. But not a romantic one, despite your obvious attraction to me and your question about my sexuality." He says as he finishes his food, putting his fingers in front of his mouth and tilting his head just slightly.

It's all John can do not to choke on his tea for a moment, and he coughs hard, blushing furiously, all the way to the tips of his ears. "E-excuse me?" he asks, coughing a little again and putting his tea down. "Obvious attraction?" He asks, shocked that Sherlock picked up on something that he just realized himself this afternoon.

"Really, John." Sherlock says with a shake of his head. "At the restaurant it was quite obvious. You didn't remove your hand from mine, your pupils dilated, your heart rate increased quite a lot, actually." he says as he looks at John. "And then there was the question about my sexuality, rather showed your hand there." He points out, shaking his head a little. He pushes the empty take-away container away, sipping his tea slowly as he continues to focus on John.

Blushing a little, John clears his throat. "Well.. it's just.. I never thought of you in that way until this afternoon.. or if I did, I didn't realize I did." he admits, looking anywhere but at Sherlock. "I'm glad you're taking my confession rather well, I know I'm just an idiot, but it still seems completely mad to me.." he admits, sighing a little.

Sherlock can't help but smirk a little as he looks at John. "Well then, I have a question for you, John.. a rather important one.." he says as he considers it, looking at the older man and feeling a little bit of trepidation about doing this. But he figures that John will understand.

"And what's that?" John asks as he looks up at the young detective, admiring him for a moment as he sits back and sips his tea, before he puts it aside and picks up the takeaway boxes, dropping the forks in the sink before he puts the boxes in the trash, before he turns to walk back to the couch.

Sitting back in his chair, Sherlock casually crosses his legs, looking at John, obviously looking him over, deducing or admiring it's really hard to tell.

"Will you go on a date with me?"

* * *

**And another chapter! Fanfiction is being annoying right now and not letting me update any of my stories, that page seems to be down. So I retaliated by writing another chapter! Sounds good, right? Right?**

**Anyway, I hope you enjoy it, could Sherlock possibly be serious about the date, or is it just an experiment? ;)**

**Reviews/comments welcome!**


	5. Chapter 5

The question, so simple, and somewhat innocent, throws John so completely off-guard that he actually stumbles over nothing - or his own feet - and manages to right himself before hitting the floor, sitting down slowly on the couch. Trying to get his brain to kick back into gear, he stares at the man across the coffee table from him. "A date. You're serious? This isn't some sort of twisted experiment?" The doctor asks warily as he looks at the younger man across from him.

Smirking at the ex-soldier's reaction, Sherlock remains sitting relaxed in his chair as if he owns the place. "Of course I'm serious John." He says in that same tone that tells John just how much of an idiot the detective thinks he is. "Do try not to be an idiot." He says with some exasperation. "You are an attractive man, you are already familiar with me which means you are accepting of the stranger parts of my personality. You even seemed amused during my deductions, and you genuinely admire my intellect." he says as he watches John. "Why shouldn't I ask you on a date?" he asks casually as if this is the sort of thing he does all the time.

"First off, I've never seen you date. Anyone. You were always married to your work, that's what you told me the first day wet met. You thought I was hitting on you, which I was not." John says firmly, then he shakes his head. "But after that, you only showed disdain for any relationship I had, or tried to have. You always interrupted them somehow." he mutters, shaking his head for a moment. "That's not here or there, though." He says thoughtfully, then he clears his throat. "Anyway, you never dated. And I'm just.. blimey, I'm just.. a normal bloke. I guess I always figured that if you dated someone, it would be someone as intelligent as you or at least a supermodel." He admits with a little laugh.

For a few moments, Sherlock takes that in, sitting in his 'thinking pose' with his hands in front of his face. "Mmmm.. Perhaps I was jealous, that is why I interrupted your dates. It seems the sort of thing that I would do. I am a very selfish man, as I'm sure you know. And possessive of the things I consider mine. I probably didn't want to share you with a woman." He says before he lowers his hands to put them on the arms of his chair. "From what I see, you are quite an extraordinary man, John Watson. You've put up with me for years, forgiven the unforgiveable, and yet when you were given the opportunity to be away from all of that, you sought me out, still." He explains as he looks at John closely. "Now. Answer the question, John." He says in a firm tone.

Although he's a little nervous, never having even thought about going on a date with a man before, and the fact that it's Sherlock, and who knows what his idea of a date is, John nods quietly, taking a deep breath. "Yes. Blimey, yes, I will go on a date with you, you madman." he says before he shakes his head a little, going to get a piece of paper and writing down his cell number, which is somehow the same as what he had in his life. Makes it easy to remember. "Here. My number. I usually know my work schedule a few days ahead of time, but I really have some work to do, and I have to go to the shops, which I know you don't like to do." he says with a little smirk. "So go home, do homework, whatever you do." He says with a little chuckle and another shake of his head.

Surprisingly obedient, Sherlock gets up and grabs his coat and scarf, putting them on before he takes John's number and easily types it into his phone. "I'll text you." he offers as he looks at the man in front of him, nodding and then heading toward the front door. Feeling John following him, he pauses in the open doorway and looks down at the shorter soldier, frowning for a moment as he considers him. "You are far too adorable, and... cuddly." He says before he swoops in, kissing John's cheek gently for a moment before he turns swiftly and puts his hands in his pockets, sweeping off down the stairs. Which would be a lot more dramatic if he were wearing his Belstaff.

John blinks slowly, and for a moment he sees his Sherlock overlaid with the younger man before him, shaking his head to dispel the image before he backs up into his apartment and closes the door, leaning against it heavily as he touches his cheek. "Bloody hell." he whispers before he straightens, going to clean up a bit before he takes his shopping list and heads out toward the nearest Tesco's.

He doesn't get far before a sleek black car pulls up beside him. "Well that was bloody quick." John says before he turns to the car just as the door is opened for him. Much to his surprise, the person inside is not Anthea or Mycroft Holmes, it's a young man who doesn't look any older than he is.

"Get in the car, Mr. Watson." The young man says, glued to his phone like Anthea so often is, only sparing John a glance and a tight smile before he goes back to whatever he was doing.

It's almost a reflex to correct people about the 'Mr./Dr.' thing, so John barley catches himself to keep from correcting the young PA. He's not a doctor anymore, and he has to remember that for the time being. "What's this all about?" he asks as he gets in the car, figuring he might as well put up a token resistance even if he knows who belongs to the car and where they're going. Well, where in a vague sense. He knows who is waiting for him at the end of this car ride.

'I think I know this warehouse.' John thinks as they arrive at their destination, and he gets out slowly, looking around before walking toward the lone figure, checking the place out before he focuses on Mycroft Holmes. Apparently the more things change, the more some things stay the same.

Mycroft has a little more hair, a little less weight, but he's still dressed in a three piece suit, charcoal colored this time, leaning on his umbrella. "John Watson.." he says in the slow drawling way he has, looking over the man in front of him.

"Who are you, then?" John asks casually, though he can't help but smirk a little. Bloody hell, if he doesn't get himself under control, people are going to start thinking he's cocky. It's actually that he's just amused at Mycroft's antics.

The taller man arches an eyebrow. "No one of consequence." he says dismissively before he says, "What is your connection to Sherlock Holmes?" he asks quietly as he looks at the smaller army man in front of him.

John considers how to answer that question, watching Mycroft. "Nothing, really.. He came and got coffee where I work.. he followed me afterwards, bit of a stalker really, but he's cute, so I can't say I dislike the attention. We ate dinner and went back to my place." He says with a little smirk, knowing Mycroft might misinterpret that.

Arching an eyebrow, Mycroft looks John over for a few moments. "Indeed. And do you plan on seeing him again?" he asks smoothly as he looks down at the floor for a moment, leaning on his umbrella.

"I don't see how that's any of your business." John points out with a small smirk as he looks at the taller man, spreading his stance and crossing his arms over his chest for a few moments to face him down properly. He's not about to let this man intimidate him in this reality or any other.

"I worry about Sherlock. Constantly." Mycroft says before he looks at John. "So you see, what Sherlock does, is my business, Mr. Watson. He does not always choose his company wisely." He admits as he looks at John. "Please answer the question."

Shaking his head for a few moments, John sighs. "You know, you should let Sherlock live his own life. Yes, I plan to see him again, No, I don't plan on doing anything to get him in any sort of trouble. Can't really afford that, with the life I have. For some reason, Sherlock Holmes has an interest in me, and until he gets tired of me, I plan to be there for him." He says simply, lifting his chin a little.

"You're very loyal, very quickly." Mycroft says as he watches John curiously. "I am willing to pay you a meaningful sum, in exchange for information on Sherlock. Nothing indiscreet, nothing you would feel uncomfortable revealing, just... let me know how he's doing." He says casually, lifting his umbrella to look at the point of it.

The last time they went through this, John refused the money and Sherlock scolded him for it. As if reading his mind - again, the bloody genius - the ex soldier's phone pings and he lifts it up to look at it.

If he offers you money, take it. -SH

Chuckling a little under his breath, John slides his phone away and he looks up at Mycroft, smirking. "It would have to be a /very/ meaningful sum of money. And I will report on his well being, seeing as I'm training to be a doctor I'm sure I can do that, but on my terms." he says in a firm tone as he watches Mycroft.

A little surprised about this answer, Mycroft nods a little, truthfully a little disappointed in the man before him, he thought he had more integrity than that. "Very well." he says before he pulls out a notebook and jots down a number, holding it out to John. "Is this.. meaningful enough for you?" he asks curiously.

A little surprised but being able to mask his shock, John nods a little after reading the number. "That'll do." He says before he turns to head back to the car. "I'd like to get my shopping done now, if you don't mind." he says dismissively before he gets into the car, pulling out his cellphone.

You are a bloody mind reader. -JW

I saw him kidnap you. -SH

So you ARE a stalker. -JW

I was merely... interested. -SH

Mmm. Well, now your brother is going to pay me a VERY tidy sum to report on your well-being. - JW

Good. We'll split the fee. And you can tell him what I want him to know. -SH

You told me that once before. Scolded me for turning down the money. I think Mycroft was disappointed in me. -JW

You refused his money before. -SH

Yes. Of course. Then later you scolded me. Of course, at that point I didn't know he was your brother. -JW

You are fascinating, John Watson. -SH

Hah. Good. The day you think I'm boring, is the day I lose you. -JW

Hardly. You worry too much. -SH

By this time, John is back where he started, getting out of the black car and waving a bit before he heads into Tesco's, doing his shopping and then heading back to his flat, still not sure how to respond to Sherlock. Finally, he just smirks and shakes his head for a few moments, looking down at his phone.

Yes. I do. You better have gone home and stopped following me. -JW

* * *

**This is just too much fun to write, things from a different perspective, and a slightly different Sherlock. Less jaded, I think is how I'm intending.**

**I just love the fact that Sherlock isn't quite sure what to make of John, but at the same time he's very interested in finding out.**

**I hope you all still enjoy this, I might start updating more regularly, depends on my energy levels at night I guess.**

**Reviews/comments make me happy!**


	6. Chapter 6

It was three days before John heard back about the date. He saw Sherlock, the man was stalking him at work, coming in once a day during his shift, chatting with him if he was slow, just telling him tea or coffee. He trusted John to make it just the way he likes it. The one time he's busy when the detective comes in, Sherlock just gives him a little secret, knowing smile before he saunters off with his coffee, always leaving him a tip with a playful smirk.

After the third day, John decides to just text Sherlock after he gets off work since the lanky man doesn't seem to be creeping around anywhere. So as he walks, he starts texting, seriously missing his smart phone which was much easier to type on.

I am going to buy you something with these tips you keep giving me. -JW

Why? It's for you. - SH

Because it's making me feel a bit like a kept man. -JW

Honestly, John. I am not providing you with that much income. -SH

Still, maybe I'll save it to get you something. Even if you are bloody hard to shop for. -JW

Maybe I'll buy a nice shirt for our date. Assuming you weren't just yanking my chain on Tuesday. -JW

Impatient or insecure? -SH

By this time John had gotten back to his apartment, and he laughs a little at that text from Sherlock, shaking his head a little. "Bloody git.." he mutters under his breath as he lets himself into his flat, removing his jacket and shoes before he sits down on the couch to text back, feeling a bit like a teenager. Sherlock and his ruddy aversion to talking on the phone. He knew he couldn't lie to the detective, so opted for the truth.

Both. -JW

You continue to surprise me. -SH

You're avoiding the question. -JW

I planned the date for tonight if you're available. -SH

A little warning would have been nice. So much for the new shirt. When and where? -JW

Once he gets the address, which is within walking distance, John shakes his head with a small chuckle, having been feeling pretty good about everything the last few days. He even got the feeling that in his own way, Sherlock had been flirting - yes, as hard as it is to believe, flirting - with the ex-soldier. Since this is all new for him though, it's rather hard for him to tell. What has become obvious however is that the younger man is a little less jaded, and looks down on people less than he will in the future. Of course, he still doesn't like people in general, still thinks they're all stupid and useless, but at least with John, he's a little more open. And that is refreshing and energizing for John. It probably won't last, but he's enjoying it for now.

After a quick shower, John selects the best shirt and a pair of jeans he thinks will look good on him, making sure his shoes are a bit buffed before he dresses, pausing halfway through buttoning his shirt to realize how idiotic he's being, preening himself for this date. But, it's what he does when he is looking forward to a date. Shrugging a little, he finishes buttoning his shirt before he grabs his jacket, wallet and phone, along with his house keys. He checks the time and then heads out, humming to himself with a small spring in his step as he heads down the road toward the address that he was provided. When he gets to a street corner, he chuckles a little, seeing Sherlock across the road, waiting until the younger man looks around before he lifts his hand over his head and waves with a little grin on his face.

Looking up from his phone, Sherlock smiles a little as he sees John, lifting his hand in greeting. Deciding that it would be better for him to go to John, rather than the other way around considering where they're going, he walks toward the curb and glances at the street before he starts to head toward John with a slight smirk on his face.

Everything that happens next is in slow motion for John. Several things happen all at once. John takes in that Sherlock is dressed as posh as he has ever seen him, actually wearing a suit and that damned purple shirt. And that stupid coat over everything, though it's left open in the front.

The second thing that John notices is that while the street was clear when Sherlock stepped off the curb, someone comes sharply around the corner, the man in the driver's seat looking down at something on the other seat or in the console or something. Which means he's not paying attention as he speeds down the road straight toward Sherlock.

As soon as he sees this, John is in motion, darting across the street toward Sherlock, his heart pounding in his ears "Sherlock!" he yells as he gets closer to the man. And then time slows down. It's an odd thing how adrenaline can affect the senses. People describe how time slows down and seconds can seem like hours. That happens when John gets close enough to put his hands on Sherlock's chest. He sees the surprise flicker over those beautiful features, and the confusion, and then the realization as he reads the distress on John's features, just about the time that John is able to give him a good shove, sending the younger man sprawling to the pavement and out of danger.

Stumbling forward a step, time seems to speed up for the ex-soldier, and a second goes by before he feels the impact of the vehicle, and the solid, metallic THUNK his body makes as it hits the hood, and he rolls up onto the windshield before he tumbles off and down into the street, groaning softly. He can already tell he's badly injured. No broken bones that he can feel but that doesn't mean anything. For a moment he panics when he can't feel his extremities, but it seems that's just the shock, because he manages to wiggle fingers and toes. But he can tell one shoulder is dislocated, he's got a bad concussion if his fuzzy vision is anything to go by. His teeth cut the inside of his cheek and he coughs a little, spitting out blood before he manages to roll onto his back. Bruises, lacerations, those are expected.

By the time he blinks again, John sees Sherlock leaning over him, distress clear on the young man's face, and his voice sounds like it's coming from very far away. "John! John!" The voice gets closer before it sounds normal again, the detective putting his hands on either side of John's face. "John, stay with me!" He practically yells, the driver of the car, clearly distressed, is on the phone, hopefully with emergency services.

John winces a little, closing his eyes for a moment before he opens them, finding it increasingly hard to do that. "I'm here, Sh'lock." He can tell his speech is a little slurred and he works his jaw for a moment, before he frowns up at Sherlock. "Concussion." He mumbles, self-diagnosing again because it keeps his head somewhat straight. "S'not fair." He says as he looks at Sherlock, before he winces, feeling something warm and wet on his legs. "My legs. Bleeding. Use.. scarf... apply pressure. Have to.. stop bleeding." he struggles to say as he looks at Sherlock.

A bit panicked, Sherlock looks down at John's legs, whipping his scarf off and finding the cut on the inside of John's thigh, he presses hard to the wound, wincing as John cries out at the pain, then grits his teeth. "What's not fair, John? John! Talk to me. Keep talking to me." He says in a firm tone as he looks at the soon to be doctor.

"Fucking hell, that hurts.." John mutters, the pain bringing him back closer to alertness. He then blinks a few times to focus on Sherlock, before he smiles weakly. "Just... got you back." He says as he looks at Sherlock. "S'not fair." He then laughs a little, ending up coughing and wincing. Cracked ribs, possibly broken. "I.. always knew.. that I would probably.. die.. saving your skinny arse." He says with a weak smile as he looks at Sherlock.

The young detective looks very distressed, and at the same time he clearly has no idea what to do. "John. John, don't say things like that. The ambulance is on its way. You'll be fine. Don't go to sleep, look at me!" he snaps as he looks at John. "You are not going to die. You survived being shot, you survived being a soldier. You will not die, John!" He commands as he looks at the man in front of him, keeping a firm pressure on the wound.

"S'ok. Course. Not gonna die. Don't want to.. disappoint you." John says with a weak smile as he looks at Sherlock, weakly reaching up one hand to touch his soft cheek. "Was.. really looking forward... to that date. Sorry.. it got messed up." He says weakly, hand falling down to the pavement at his side.

There's no more chance for talking as an ambulance screeches to a halt beside them, the paramedics jumping out to bring out a stretcher, attending to John, separating the two men before going to work. Finally, they get John up onto the stretcher, refusing to let Sherlock go with them because he's not family, even as they load the former soldier into the ambulance.

"Where are you taking him?!" Sherlock demands, grabbing the arm of one paramedic, bloody scarf hanging from one of his hands.

Taking pity on him, the older paramedic removes Sherlock's hand from his arm, putting his hands on the younger man's biceps. "We're taking him to St. Bart's. You can go there and wait for him, as long as he doesn't need surgery." The man says with a nod of his head, waiting for Sherlock to absorb that before he turns and hops into the ambulance.

Finding himself shaking slightly, Sherlock nods and watches the vehicle leave before he pulls out his phone. He swore he would never ask his brother for any help on anything, he would make his own way in the world, but he suddenly finds himself making an exception. He looks at his phone before he opens it and dials the number, clearing his throat and trying to keep it steady as he hears the other end pick up.

"Mycroft. I need your help."

* * *

**Oh my goodness. You all are going to riot and kill me. x.x I just got this idea into my head today and it wouldn't let me go! Please don't hurt me.**

**I will try to have another chapter up tonight to put you all out of your misery but I'm going to update my other stories now that this is out of my head.**

**Reviews/commetns are welcome!**


	7. Chapter 7

Sherlock gets a cab to the hospital after speaking to his brother, forgetting about his disheveled look, he tosses away his scarf and removes his jacket, managing to wash his hands off before he finds his brother, still very distressed about everything.

"Really, Sherlock. Look at you." Mycroft says in a disapproving tone, shaking his head for a moment. "Though it is good to see you looking like a grownup for once." he says as he eyes the suit Sherlock is wearing. "Still, getting so worked up over John Watson, of all people? I fail to see what is so intriguing about him." Mycroft says as he examines the nails of his hand for a moment.

This is not really the time that Sherlock wants to have this conversation with his brother, and so he just says, "You can't see how special he is, Mycroft, and that is why you're alone. How is your diet going, by the way?" he asks, glancing his brother over before he heads toward the front desk. "I'm looking for a John Watson, he was just brought in by ambulance, he was hit by a car." he says as he fidgets a little, really wanting a cigarette to help calm his nerves.

The nurse taps away at the keyboard slowly, considering for a few moments. "I'm afraid he's still in the ER, sir. You won't be able to see him until he's stabilized and moved to his own room." She explains as she looks up at the obviously distressed young man. She smiles in what is meant to be a sympathetic way. "Don't worry, honey. I'm sure he'll be fine. Initial reports say that he needed some stitches, he's lost quite a bit of blood, but nothing too serious." She reassures, smiling comfortingly at the young man in front of her. "But they have to go through x-rays and the exams, and those can take a while. You know.. I'm sure he would appreciate it if you brought in some clothes and such for him." She offers, assuming that they're either good friends or something more, from the way Sherlock is acting.

Making an annoyed sound in his throat, and giving the Nurse a curt nod, Sherlock turns away from the station and paces back over to where his brother is, "I need a cigarette." He mutters before he walks out the doors, quickly pulling one out of his jacket that he's still carrying.

"Your last bit of rebellion, is it, Sherlock? That is a rather nasty habit you have, you should give it up." Mycroft says with distaste as he follows his brother out. "I called in a favor, little brother, your John Watson will be taken care of." he reassures as he looks at his brother, confused since he's never seen him act like this before.

Taking a long drag from his cigarette, Sherlock exhales and sighs a little. "It helps me think." he says before he nods quietly. "Good. I.. should go to his flat, get him some things, he'll need something to change into when he leaves." he says thoughtfully, already knowing he'll be able to break into John's flat, the locks aren't that complicated and if worse came to worse he could charm his way past the landlord.

Watching his little brother with concern, Mycroft merely sighs. "Do be careful, Sherlock. I don't want to see you disappointed by this.. simpleton. I assure you, I've done a thorough check, there is nothing extraordinary about him." he says as he continues to watch Sherlock.

Taking another drag of his cigarette, Sherlock frowns at his brother. "Thank you for your help, Mycroft. Now kindly bugger off." he says before he strides off. He goes back to his flat first, hesitating before he changes into a clean suit, thinking that John still might like it, and then he goes to John's, picking the lock and letting himself in. Nervous still, his mind turning back to the way John looked on the pavement, bruised and battered. Collecting clothes and such for John that he puts in a duffel, along with books that he seems to favor, Sherlock finally locks the place back up after finding a spare key, smirking a little as he heads back toward the hospital, adding John's spare key to his own key ring. "Please be alright, John." He says to himself.

By the time he gets back to the hospital, John has been given his own room thanks to Mycroft, and Sherlock is allowed access, on the 'approve visitor' list. The detective sets the duffel down along one wall before he pulls over the uncomfortable plastic chair provided. Finally, he allows himself to look at the man on the bed, breath catching in his throat. John lays on his back, hooked up to an IV, a pulse monitor on his finger, having a few more monitors attached, and oxygen tubes in his nose. But more than that, he looks battered and bruised, small cuts along his face and hands, one along his forehead bigger than the others, and being held together by a butterfly suture.

"John.." Sherlock whispers, going to grab the chart and see what's actually wrong with him. Gash on his leg, 10 stitches, two cracked ribs, cut on the inside of his cheek but that's mostly superficial, nothing too serious. extensive bruising and a likely twisted knee, he might have to walk with a cane until it heals. Not that he should be moving around much with cracked ribs. Satisfied that he's going to be fine and it's nothing too serious, Sherlock replaces the chart and then goes back to sit beside John. "You idiot, John.." he mutters softly, taking the older man's hand gently in his, and since there's no one there to see, he leans down and kisses the back of his hand lightly. But he knows that John has to sleep, so he just rests his head down beside John's legs, on the bed, hands staying around one of John's.

It's hours before John starts to wake up, and he gives a small grunt as the pain hits him, and he opens his eyes slowly, blinking rapidly. When he feels pressure on the bed beside him, he turns and looks at the detective, having to blink a few times and make sure he is seeing what he thinks he's seeing. For a moment he thinks it's his old Sherlock. But no, he sees the face, younger than he's seen it. Unable to help himself, he weakly lifts his hand and sinks his fingers into those curls, stroking along Sherlock's head for a moment.

The touch jerks Sherlock out of his light sleep, and he hums softly for a moment before he looks at John. "You're awake.." he says in relief, letting the hand fall from his hair as he sits up, but he catches it in one of his. "Thank you, John.. you saved my life. I'm so sorry you got hurt. How are you feeling?" The detective asks as he sits up, looking over at the call button.

"Hurts to breathe. Cracked ribs, huh?" John asks as he looks at Sherlock, watching the younger man nod. "I hurt everywhere. But, I was hit by a car. No broken bones, that's surprising.." He mumbles as he notes the lack of a cast on any part of his body. "Not much of a first date.. and you're still all dressed up.. Blimey, you always looked good in your bloody suits." He says as he watches his detective.

"Don't worry about the date." Sherlock scolds as he looks at John. "I'll take care f your work and everything, just relax and get better, John. Go back to sleep. I'll be here when you wake up." He promises, kissing the back of John's hand lightly as he looks at the man on the bed, being able to tell that he's tired.

Making a small sound since he can feel his eyes drooping sleepily again, John nods quietly. "You had better be. No bloody disappearing acts." He mumbles softly, squeezing Sherlock's hand gently as he looks at the younger man. "I'll always be there to save you if I can, Sherlock... the.. other time.. knew you less than 24 hours, and shot a serial killer to keep you alive. That's what I do. I protect you. Tried to at least. Always." He says with a small nod of his head, eyes closed now so he doesn't see the look on the other man's face, taking a deep breath before he sighs, starting to drift back into unconsciousness.

"I won't disappear." Sherlock reassures, listening and watching John drift off. Slowly, he stands up once he's sure that John is asleep, and he slowly leans over, kissing his forehead tenderly, glad no one is there to see that. "What have you done to me, John Watson. On paper, Mycroft is right, you are not remarkable. But you keep surprising me. I want you to keep surprising me. I believe you can make me become a better person, John." he says softly to the unconscious man, stroking the blonde locks back from his forehead slowly with a tender hand.

Even though he's asleep, John shifts a little when Sherlock talks to him and touches his skin, wincing and then letting out a little sigh, lips parting, whispering something that the young detective isn't even sure that he heard correctly, and it isn't repeated.

"Love you, Sh'lock.."

* * *

**Oh, gosh.. I just can't control myself tonight! At least this wasn't as bad as the ending to chapter 6. I did promise to get a chapter up tonight, and here you are! John will be fine, really. He got off easy, considering he got hit by a car.**

**Next: How will Sherlock handle an injured John? Will they ever get their date?!**

**Hope you all enjoy this, I probably won't update again until Friday, because I want to update one of my other stories, but we'lll see how things go!**

**Comments/reviews welcome!**


	8. Chapter 8

It's morning before John wakes again, and he lets out a little grunt. HIs body still hurts pretty much everywhere, and he can feel the dull fog that comes along with morphine clouding his mind. When he finally opens his eyes, eh sees Sherlock sleeping with his head buried in his arms which are resting on the edge of John's bed, one of his long-fingered, pale hands clutching onto John's loosely.

Slowly, he looks around the hospital room, surprised to see that it's a private one. It takes John longer than it should have to realize how he managed to land himself a private room. Mycroft. Which means Sherlock must have called him. That alone is enough to surprise the former soldier, considering how much animosity is between the two, and it speaks a lot to Sherlock's mental state.

A nurse comes in and she smiles at John, "Good morning, Mr. Watson!" She says cheerfully.

Frowning a little at her, John lifts his hand and presses one finger against his lips. "Shhh." he says as if to emphasize the point, then he looks over and indicates the sleeping detective, who had shifted at the sudden noise.

Giving John a knowing smile, the nurse nods a little, dropping her voice. "I'm sorry. I didn't see him there. I just need to change the bandage on your leg and take your vitals, alright?" She asks as she looks at John. Luckily the bandage is on the opposite side from Sherlock, which is probably purposefully done on the detective's part. The nurse pulls up the covers to make sure it still covers one of John's legs, and from his hips up before she peeks at the bandage. "I just need you to bend your leg a little so I can get under this bandage, John. Do you mind if I call you John?" She asks, smiling prettily at him.

Shaking his head slowly, John does as he's told, noting that because of the morphine he feels nothing but a dull ache in that area. "Sure. I mean.. don't mind." He agrees, nodding a little as he looks at her. "How long have I been here? Hard to tell time in here." he notes as he glances at the nurse.

While she's removing the old bandage and putting on a new one, the nurse smiles a little. "Oh, you've been here about 12 hours. That young man of yours was very worried. He refused to leave your side, said he promised to be here when you woke up. He's a little odd, but he's sweet in his own way, isn't he?" She asks with a little smile, doing her work competently as she talks. "When you feel like it, there's a private bathroom over there, with a shower in it. I figure you might be more comfortable with your young man helping you shower than one of us." She winks at John knowingly with a slight grin. "I'll leave you something to wrap this bandage in to keep it dry. We wrapped your ribs, but you can take it off to shower and then put it back on afterwards." She explains as she finishes her work and covers John's leg back up, disposing of the dirty bandages.

"He's not.. my young man." John says quietly in a slightly sad tone of voice. "We were supposed to go on our first date last night.. before.. this.." he says with a little sigh, not sure why he's telling the nurse this, other than he wants to get it out. "I was really looking forward to it, too.." he says quietly before he sighs, closing his eyes for a few moments. "Can you please tell the doctor that I'd like to be taken off the morphine as soon as possible? I never liked the feeling it gives me, and I was on it for a while for my shoulder. I don't want to risk addiction." He says as he opens his eyes to look at the nurse, flushing a little. "I'm sure I can manage a shower.." he mumbles nervously, since he can't see Sherlock having the patience to help him.

Smiling in a knowing way to John, the nurse nods a little and she smiles. "Well, I'm sure that he'll find a way to make it up to you." She says with a little chuckle. "I'll let the doctor know about your request. I'm going to turn the levels down a little right now, ok?" She offers as she goes over to the machine and lowers his dosage a little. "Just hit the call button if you need anything, alright? We're going to keep you here at least for another 24 hours, you had a rather nasty concussion." She explains, making a note on his chart before she slips it back into its holder. "If you think you can handle it, I'll have some food sent up for you."

"Mmm. Should try and eat, body needs nutrients from food, not just from the IV." John agrees with a small nod, glancing at the IV, confused. "What do I do with this if I take a shower?" he asks as he looks at the hanging bags.

Chuckling a little at her patient, the nurse smiles. "The bags are on rollers, you can take it in there with you, of course. Or you can just give yourself a sponge bath." she says with a little wink. "I'm sure that young man can help you figure it out." She says with a little grin. "I'll have some food sent in.. for both of you." She says with another smile before she pats his arm in a motherly way and turns to head out.

Once the nurse is gone, John smiles a little, lifting his hand and gently running it through those curls. "Sherlock?" he asks softly as he indulges himself in running his fingers over those dark curls that he's wanted to touch so often.

Waking with a slight jerk, Sherlock lifts his head, one cheek imprinted with the design and wrinkle of his suit jacket. He blinks a few times, before a slow smile spreads across his lips. "John.." he says in relief as he looks at the older man, taking the hand from his hair and kissing the back of it softly. "How are you feeling, are you in any pain?" he asks, sounding almost a little panicked as he sits up, wincing and stretching a little.

"Not really... morphine." John says as he indicates the drip, then he looks back at Sherlock. "Hate morphine.. makes my head all fuzzy. The nurse thinks you're my young man... says you should help me shower when I'm feeling up to it." he says with a little giggle at the thought, looking at the detective. "Sorry our date was cancelled." he says with a definite disappointment in his tone.

Sherlock smiles a little as he watches the slightly loopy man in front of him. "Well, wouldn't that be taking our relationship a little fast?" Sherlock teases as he looks at John, chuckling as he stands up, leaning over and kissing John's forehead softly, then he wrinkles his nose. "You do smell rather awful though." he says with a slight smirk. "We can have a date again when you're feeling better." he reassures, slowly stroking John's hair back from his face, not sure when he got so attached to the ex-soldier, but he can't deny that he is.

With a little sound of pleasure, John tilts his head a bit. "That feels nice." he says idly when Sherlock strokes his hair. "You called Mycroft, to get me a private room." He says out of the blue, blinking up at Sherlock. "I thought you hated Mycroft. Some ridiculous sibling rivalry." he notes as he shifts a little, wincing a bit as he shifts his body the wrong way and aggravates his ribs.

"Mycroft and I don't get along, no. I am not particularly fond of my brother. But your well-being was more important, John. They wouldn't let me stay if you were in a normal room. And I needed to stay." Sherlock explains as he looks down at his doctor, wondering if he remembers or even knows what he said in his sleep last night. It's something that Sherlock knows he will never forget, he will never be able to ignore, but at the moment he has to keep silent about it, especially with john being a bit loopy from the morphine.

"Thank you, Sherlock." John says quietly, letting out a little sigh. "You don't have to stay. I know you'll be bored." He says as he looks up at the younger man with concern, not wanting him to get bored, or destructive.

Sherlock watches John for a few moments, still smoothing his hand over the short blonde hair slowly. "I want to stay." he says as he looks at John. "I won't be that bored." He reassures quietly with a small smile. "I want you to get better, and I need to know how you need to be taken care of when you get out of here. You'll need help. You can stay at my flat, I have two bedrooms. That way I can help you." He says matter-of-factly as if he's been thinking this over for a while.

A small laugh is given, before it turns into a small cough and a hiss. "Ow, ow, ow..." John mutters before he smirks a little. "You want me to stay with you, Sherlock? I suppose I could put up with that.." he says with a little smirk. "I'll have to call into work, I can't work like this.. probably not for a week." He mumbles as he considers it, eyes closing a little. "Food should be on its way.. getting sleepy again.. bloody morphine. Wake me when.. food.. gets here.." he says quietly, his speech slowing down as he starts to drift off again.

Smiling a little as he looks down at the man who was so strong, playful and full of life a day ago and is now so weak and hurt, Sherlock nods quietly. "Of course, John. You need your rest. I'll be here." he reassures, leaning over and kissing John's forehead tenderly again, waiting until John has drifted off before he starts to move away slowly.

"What have you done to me, John?"

* * *

**Yay, I managed to update all three of my fics tonight! I thought I might not get to this one, but I did! A little moment of cuteness for everyone.**

**I hope you are enjoying this story, I can't believe it's turned into this much of a story, it was just a random thought I wanted to turn into a one-shot at the most, I didn't anticipate it becoming a whole story! Ah well, I will let it go where it wants to go. :D**

**Thank you to everyone who has been reading so far, and everyone who is following this story. You guys inspire me to write, and make me want to share all of my silly ideas.**

**Reviews/comments are welcome, and encouraged!**


	9. Chapter 9

The next thing John knows is that he's being shaken gently, on his good shoulder, a slightly annoyed voice coming from somewhere above his head. He's a little fuzzy, but he recognizes the voice, even if it takes him a few moments to realize it belongs to Sherlock. But why is he so annoyed with John? He'll just get up, and make some tea, maybe that's why he's so annoyed, is because he wants tea and John won't get up to make it for him. Lazy git never could do it by himself, even if it is just simple chemistry. Claims he doesn't do it as well as John. And that it's useless information.

"Give me a moment, Sh'lock... I'll make your tea in a minute.." John slurs as he starts to float towards wakefulness, sighing a little as he feels a dull aching in his head that seems to spread out through his whole body. Did he drink last night? He doesn't think he did, but it certainly does feel like a hangover, though he's not sure about the full body aching. Maybe he has the flu, but that doesn't sound right either, if he had the flu there would be more symptoms and - oh. His brain finally catches up with what happened as he comes out of the morphine-induced fog, opening his eyes slowly and blinking up at the bemused face of Sherlock Holmes.

"As good as your tea is, John, and as welcome a change it would be from the swill they have here, I hardly think you're in the position to be making anything." Sherlock says with a slight smirk that's quickly gone. "The nurse brought in some food. For both of us, though I think inflicting that sort of torture on one person is quite enough." He notes, looking at the food skeptically. "They said that if you can keep it down, they'd like you to eat some more in a few hours, and then they might take you off the IV drip. And I am to help you get cleaned up after you've eaten." He says before he shrugs slightly. "I did get some of your toiletries and clothes, though for the time being I have a feeling the clothe may have to wait. Except perhaps some pants." Blue-gray eyes travel down John's body slowly until they glance at the place in question, though it's covered by the blankets.

Letting out a small groan of discomfort, John closes his eyes for a moment, before he thinks carefully over what Sherlock said, knowing that his mind is being affected by the drugs so he may not be as sharp as normal. Which he is sure will not improve his standing in Sherlock's eyes since he wasn't exactly on the detective's level to begin with. "First.. when was the last time you ate?" He asks, opening his eyes to pin the younger man down. He would cross his arms, but he's pretty sure his ribs and his shoulder would very much protest that. So instead he narrows his eyes slightly at the man still hovering over him.

Clearing his throat slightly and avoiding looking John in the eye, he instead rolls the little tray over that will sit above John's lap. "That is clearly not the issue right now, John. You are seriously injured. The nurses informed me you lost a lot of blood. You need to eat." He says in a firm tone before he moves over to the other side of the bed, starting to sit the bed up slowly, adjusting pillows so that they support John's head.

Sighing a little but letting Sherlock fuss, John finally reaches out with his good hand, though not as fast as he wishes he could, and grabs Sherlock's chin firmly to turn the detective's head toward him. "Which means you cannot remember when you ate last. You will sit, and you will eat with me. Everything on that bloody plate. So help me, Sherlock, I will not eat a bite unless you do." He says in a firm tone, trying to be as intimidating as he can be when he's battered, bruised, and lying in a hospital bed. He can only keep his arm up for so long though, so he finally is forced to release the detective, briefly brushing his thumb along the man's lower lip before he lets his hand fall back to the bed, briefly closing his eyes.

It's clear that John's actions surprise the younger man, as Sherlock just stares at John, at least mustering up enough willpower to look a little indignant, then slightly distressed, even if they are micro expressions at best. But to the doctor, he might as well have held up signs describing his feelings. Of course, closing his eyes means that John will miss the surprised look and brief flush to Sherlock's face when his thumb brushes the detective's lip. Briefly licking his lips, Sherlock straightens and looks away from the doctor laying in the bed before his eyes are open. Slowly, he nods. "Fine. If it will make you eat, but if I must eat all of it, then you have to as well." He says in a firm tone, putting everything within easy reach of John, pulling over another little table for himself so he can sit beside the bed and eat. "You seem to know me quite well." He says as he pokes at the breakfast of eggs, pancakes, bacon, sausage and toast, as well as orange juice and he got himself a coffee from the nearest vending machine.

John snorts a little. "Not half as well as you know.. knew.. me. You tend to keep a lot of things to yourself. Most stuff, actually. I had to learn everything the hard way." He says as he awkwardly uses his right hand to pick up the fork and eat slowly, making sure to carefully chew and swallow, wanting to make sure his stomach doesn't reject anything. "You don't.. didn't.. like to talk about your feelings or yourself. But we did live together, so I figured out some things, yeah. I know how bored you get, I can tell when you're in your Mind Palace. I can tell by what kind of music you're playing on your violin, what kind of mood you're in and whether it's safe to disturb you. But about you? I only know a few of your likes and dislikes, mostly related to food and drink. I'm always trying to get you to eat more. I know it's just transport to you, but I am.. was.. a doctor.. And I was your best friend. It worried me that you didn't take care of yourself." He admits quietly as he eats.

Thinking about all of that as Sherlock forces himself to eat the lukewarm and bland food on his plate, he finally looks up at John. "You say we were best friends.. I don't.. make friends easily. Well, not at all, really." he says as he considers it. "It seems strange that I wouldn't open up to you at least a little." He admits as he watches the doctor for a few moments, nibbling on toast to prove he's still eating.

Sighing a little and nodding quietly, John watches the man in front of him. "Yes, it does seem strange, doesn't it?" he asks softly, then he shakes his head. "I always wanted to ask, but.. you didn't really answer personal questions.. I thought maybe something happened to you in your childhood, or when you were younger that cemented your disdain for people and made you deliberately try to keep everyone at arm's strength. Your armor was thick, Sherlock. You still have a lot of walls, I can tell. A lot of the same walls. But they're not as thick or as high, it seems like. You're a lot more open than the Sherlock I knew. Less hardened. But... There's been a lot that you haven't gone through yet. And I hope you won't ever need to." he says as he pokes at his food sadly for a moment, then starts eating again.

"Will you tell me?" Sherlock asks, knowing what a dangerous question that is, but wondering what could make the former soldier so sad. He finishes his food as commanded, moving the tray away before he sits back in his uncomfortable chair, taking a deep breath as he finishes his orange juice and then sips at his coffee.

For a few moments John doesn't reply, he just eats slowly as he considers the answer. Finally, he looks at Sherlock closely. "At some point between the age you are now, I would wager, and when I met you, you had a stint with drugs." he says as he watches him. "From what I've been able together, your own mixture of cocaine and something else, I never could get the full story. It got pretty bad, to the point where Mycroft had to force you into a rehab facility." He explains as he finishes his food, sipping the orange juice slowly.

Nodding a little, Sherlock considers it for a few moments. "That is something I have briefly considered. However, I am well aware of the debilitating effects and long-term damage a great number of drugs can cause." he says as he thinks about it for a few moments. "I determined that the possibility of detrimental side effects were not worth the experimentation." He says with a slight shrug of his shoulders.

John can't help the wave of relief that goes through him as he hears his detective say that. "I wonder if you thought that.. I mean.. the other you.. I wonder if someone else introduced you to them, in some way." He says thoughtfully, then he reaches out and lightly touches the back of Sherlock's hand gently. "I know your mind is always running. When you had nothing to do, you once described it to me as if it was a rocket, stuck on the launching pad, tearing itself to pieces." he says as he watches Sherlock. "I.. can never do much to keep you from being bored. I know I'm dull, and an idiot, but I've always cared about you." he says honestly, frustrated because as much as he feels like he knows Sherlock, the man in front of him isn't the man he knew, which is frustrating him.

"Oh, you are an idiot, but don't worry, practically everyone is." Sherlock says with a dismissive tone, smirking a little as he looks at John curiously. "I understand, John. Your confusion. I may or may not be a younger version of the man you knew. Since you knew so little about him, it would be difficult to make the comparison. However, you do seem to know a great deal about me, down to how I like my coffee. I suggest that you stop second-guessing yourself, John." the detective says as he gets up, moving the tray away from in front of John, before he moves around to pull the covers down off of him.

"Oiy! What the bloody hell do you think you're doing?!" John asks in alarm as he suddenly gets his covers ripped away, sending goose bumps over his skin as the cooler air hits it.

Smirking a little, Sherlock watches John. "I am assisting you to get cleaned up. Honestly, you smell rather ripe, and you still have quite a bit of blood and dirt on you in places. You will require assistance." he says as if it's obvious, moving the IV stand so John can get up, then he offers his hands.

Groaning a little, John shakes his head a little. "Bloody prat, you could have asked." He mutters, before he very carefully swings his legs over the edge of the bed, grunting in pain when most people would be moaning and groaning about it. He closes his eyes to brace himself before he grabs Sherlock's hands carefully, slowly slipping off the bed and this time he does groan as he impacts the floor, injured leg buckling slightly.

Seeming amused by this, Sherlock watches John, catching the doctor easily when it seems like he's going to fall, making sure he's steadied before he watches how the older man is dealing with the pain.

"Ever the soldier, John. Not wanting to show weakness, even in front of me."

* * *

**Yay, got this up! I kept getting distracted tonight, even if this idea has been bouncing around in my head all day. :)**

**Sherlock really has no concept of propriety sometimes. Heheh. And John still knows how to manipulate his consulting detective.**

**Hope you all enjoy, thank you so much for reading!**

**Reviews/comments welcome.**


	10. Chapter 10

"Piss off, Sherlock." John grumbles as he glares at the detective half-heartedly. Of course, it doesn't help the way he's clinging to the detective to keep him upright. He tentatively puts weight on his injured leg, hissing a little. "Bloody hell, this is going to get old fast.." He mumbles. It takes time, work, and pain to get John into the bathroom, and Sherlock leaves briefly to retrieve his soaps and shampoos, and also to let him use the facilities.

"I think a bath would be better than a shower, considering your leg and the IV stand." Sherlock advises once he's let back into the bathroom to see John sitting on the toilet seat, looking a little pale and sweaty. The detective is concerned as she looks at him, then he quietly goes and plugs the tub, starting to fill it. He leaves once again to get the plastic piece that the nurse left. "This is to cover your bandage.." he says, putting it on the sink and looking at it curiously. Slowly, he shrugs out of his suit jacket and hangs it on the back of the door, rolling his sleeves up quietly.

Watching Sherlock with amusement, John chuckles a little. "I know how to use it.. you don't have to stay here, Sherlock. I can manage the rest on my own, it's not the first time I've been injured." He points out as he watches the younger man move around, being able to tell how awkward he feels.

Looking over at the older man, Sherlock shakes his head firmly. "What if you fell and injured yourself more? Your shoulder is sore from being dislocated, not to mention it's the same shoulder that was previously shot, you have two cracked ribs and an injured leg. You can barely sit up on your own, John. I will help you. It's my fault you're like this, I should have paid more attention, and you saved me." He points out in a firm tone, not willing to take any arguments. Instead he goes over and tests the temperature of the water, then he crouches down, tipping one knee forward onto the floor before he glances at John. "Being a doctor and a former soldier, at least you should be less shy about nudity." He observes as he helps to get the plastic piece over the bandage, cinching it closed on either end.

Knowing that when Sherlock gets like this, there's nothing that John can do about it, and admitting defeat when he realizes how right the detective is, the doctor just sighs and nods quietly. He merely complies when Sherlock puts on the cover. "Alright, alright.. You're right, not shy about nudity in general.. Doesn't mean I want to go showing off to all and sundry. I do have some modesty, Sherlock." he says with a little shake of his head. "Thank you, for your help. I do appreciate it. Doctors make the worst patients, you know." he says with a slight smirk, sighing a little before he stands when Sherlock is done. "You'll have to untie the back.. and it feels like they have some sort of binding around my ribs. About all you can do for cracked or broken ribs." he says quietly as he balances on mostly on one foot.

Nodding a little in acknowledgement, Sherlock gets up and undoes the back and the arm of John's hospital gown, pulling it away and setting it aside, looking at the bruised and battered backside of the doctor. He finds the edge to the binding which is essentially a big Ace Bandage before he starts to undo it. "Lift your arms a bit." He commands, waiting until John's arms are away from his body before he starts to unwrap his ribs, trying not to take advantage of John by ogling his backside.

Only feeling a little embarrassed since he can't remember a time where Sherlock has ever seen him nude, he hopes that he's not blushing as he lifts his arms a little, wincing a little as his ribs are released from their binding. "Blimey, I hate cracked ribs.. Always feels better and worse when they're not bound.." He mumbles quietly.

"Not your first time having them, then?" Sherlock asks, putting the wrappings aside before moving past John to the tub, shutting off the water before he takes John's good arm to help him into the water. It takes a bit of doing, and Sherlock has to support most of John's weight as he slowly sits down in the water, but they get there, with the IV stand arranged properly, Sherlock sighing. "It would be better if we just took this out." he says as he motions to the IV. "You don't need it anymore, the food, such as it was, seems to have settled fine with you." he points out as he brings over John's preferred cleaning products, and picks up a small bucket like thing that he can use to help John wash his hair.

Considering the IV and everything he's been told, John nods a little. "They can give me pills for the pain.." he says quietly, before he shifts, pulling the tape off before he pulls the needle out, tossing it to the side. "That's better." he says with a nod of his head.

Sherlock takes the tube away, looping it over the top of the stand to keep it out of the way. Leaning over the edge of the tub a little, the detective dips a wash cloth into the water and helps John get his arms and shoulders cleaned off before he lifts it carefully to clean John's face, pressing the cloth into the doctor's hand afterward. "Close your eyes." The detective says quietly, surprised at the emotions welling up as he takes care of his doctor, dumping water over the man's head slowly to wet down his hair, then he works some shampoo into it as John cleans the rest of himself off. Finally, Sherlock pours water over John's head again to wash the shampoo out, remaining silent as he considers the man before him.

It was rather accurate when John called him a stalker. After meeting for the first time Sherlock was a bit of a stalker, he followed the man around, did his research to find out more about him. The more he found out, the more confused he was. John Watson should be a boring man by all accounts. A very boring man. Sherlock has found that the doctor's personality makes him very much not boring. Constantly finding that the older man is saying or doing things completely unexpected has drawn Sherlock in like a moth to a flame. He can understand how the other version of himself might have become friends so easily, but the detective finds himself wanting a little more from the doctor than just friendship. Hence the date, and the way he acted when he saw John bounce off that car. Firmly shaking his head, Sherlock finishes washing John's hair, running his hand over it slowly before he adds, "Give me that, and lean forward a little, I'll get your back." he says brusquely before taking the cloth back from John to do just that.

For his part, John has to admit that he enjoys the attention a bit from Sherlock, not sure where this surprisingly tender side comes from. "Thank you.." He says quietly as he carefully washes himself off, then hands the cloth to the younger man, leaning forward with some effort since it hurts his ribs. When Sherlock is finished, the doctor leans back carefully and he sighs softly as he tilts his head back against the wall, eyes closing. "Need to get out soon.. I'm getting sleepy again." He says with some frustration, rubbing his good hand through his hair.

"Yes, best not to fall asleep in the tub." Sherlock says with a little smirk before he goes toward the room and the bag he left, grabbing some pants for John and then pulling the plug on the drain and getting a towel within reach. it takes some more doing but they finally get John up and out of the tub and then dried off. Protection taken off of his leg bandage, and wrappings around his ribs, it's not long before John is in his pants and hospital gown again. It takes another few minutes to get them back to the bed, and by the time John is laying down he's thoroughly exhausted.

"You don't have to stay, Sherlock. I'm sure you have things to do.. class.. oh! Classes.. I need to contact my professors, and work..." John says before he groans and closes his eyes. "I'll call tomorrow.. it's Saturday, right? Was Friday when we had the date..." He says as he looks at Sherlock, trying to focus.

The future consulting detective just watches John, nodding quietly. "Get some sleep, John. I'll take care of everything." He offers as he watches the doctor. Sherlock takes a deep breath, tucking the blankets around him carefully before taking his seat, ignoring his slightly damp shirt and pants from the tub struggle.

Feeling himself grow tired again, John sighs as he watches the detective, shaking his head for a few moments as he gets comfortable, just admiring the man in front of him, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath.

"Bloody good looking, tall, smug prat.."

* * *

**Sleepy John says strange things. :) And Sherlock is being so caring. Don't worry, he'll eventually go back to the aloof detective we know, when he doesn't have to worry about his doctor anymore.**

**I am thinking of having Mycroft come and visit next chapter, maybe while Sherlock is away doing something, what do you all think?**

**Thank you so much for the reviews and follows, it's lovely to know you guys like this!**

**Reviews/comments are very welcome!**


	11. Chapter 11

Not being able to help himself, Sherlock chuckles softly as he watches John drift off yet again. When the nurse comes back in, she's disapproving of the fact that they removed John's IV, but she doesn't attempt to put it back in, saying that Sherlock has to make sure to give him plenty of liquids whenever he's awake, and that she'll bring his medication around in pill form.

Feeling restless and in desperate need of a cigarette, Sherlock watches John for a moment longer to reassure himself that the older man is going to be out for a while, before he picks up his coat and heads outside, using the opportunity to stretch his legs as well. Turning a corner, he nearly runs into an older man, late twenties to early thirties, a little shorter than him but not as short as John. His brown hair is going gray, and he wears a long tan trench coat. Seeming to be looking for someone or something, he just apologizes absentmindedly to Sherlock before he continues down the hall.

For a moment Sherlock continues to watch him, then he snorts in disdain. Some sort of law enforcement officer. Eager to climb up the ranks, likely wanting to be a detective from the look of him. Likely off to interview some suspect. Not that it will do them any good, Sherlock has watched the so-called investigations of the police, and is firmly in the believe that they have no idea what they're doing. Clearly whatever they're doing is not investigating, they miss half the clues, even if they do manage to bumble their way into the right answer in the end. Shaking his head a little, he sighs and continues on outside, lighting a cigarette once he gets into the fresh air.

"My, my, what would Mummy think?" Comes a dry, bored tone from the walkway up to the hospital. Mycroft stands there, leaning slightly on his umbrella as he watches his brother. "That really is a rather horrible habit." He says as he looks at his brother.

Sherlock slowly looks over at Mycroft, narrowing his eyes at the other man. "On the patch again? How is your new diet going?" he asks scathingly before he takes another puff of his cigarette, not sure why his brother is here but he doesn't want him to be, he doesn't want him anywhere near John.

Tsking softly and shaking his head, Mycroft moves a little closer, watching his brother. "Now, now, little brother. Put away your claws. All your spitting and hissing is most unbecoming. And you wouldn't want to scare off dear Mr. Watson, would you? Although I suppose in a few years it will be Dr. Watson, won't it?" he asks as he considers it thoughtfully for a moment, looking at the hospital doors, before his eyes slide back to his brother. "Believe it or not, I came to see how he is faring, and if he is being adequately cared for." At this point he gives Sherlock a look that clearly implies he doesn't think Sherlock capable of the care John might need.

Not able to resist rising to the bait, Sherlock's back straightens and he scowls as he looks at Mycroft. "I am perfectly capable of his care. This is the first time I've left his side, and only because he's asleep. He would disapprove of me hovering over him." He decides with a small nod of his head as he watches Mycroft. "I have to contact his work and professors to inform them of the situation." he says thoughtfully, tilting his head up to look at the sky as he exhales smoke slowly.

"I took the liberty of informing his professors. Lets just say it's my little gift to you, Sherlock." Mycroft pauses, lifting his umbrella to examine the tip. "I have never seen you take so much interest in another person before. Or at least, another person who is still alive." he says as he lowers his gaze to look at his brother. "I am happy that someone has caught your attention, little brother. Don't worry, I won't tell Mummy about him until you're ready. And I have taken the liberty of taking care of his medical bills. You may take the credit for that if you wish." He says casually, squinting up at the sun for a moment before he says, "Looks like it might rain later. London has such lovely weather." he says with his usual dry sarcasm.

Sherlock is getting suspicious now as he watches Mycroft. "You are being far too benevolent, Mycroft." He says as he narrows his eyes a little, finishing the cigarette and stamping it under his foot. "Don't think that I will owe you now because of your help." he says as he looks at his brother. "Leave John alone. I don't want to hear that you've kidnapped him again." he says in a firm tone as he watches his brother.

"He told you about that, did he? My, my, you two are getting rather close." Mycroft says before he smiles a little, but it's not very pleasant. "Well, then, I'll leave you to it. Do send John my best. If you'll excuse me, I do have other matters that require my attention here." He says before he steps inside the hospital, swinging his umbrella slowly.

Still being suspicious of his brother, Sherlock glances at his watch, thinking that he has some time to kill, so he decides to walk to the closest coffee shop and get himself a decent cuppa, thinking about everything that's happened in the last week or so since he met John.

Inside the hospital, Mycroft waits until he sees Sherlock go, shaking his head a little. "Forgive me, Sherlock, but some things I must see for myself." he says to himself before he turns and heads up to John's room, looking around for a few moments to make sure the facilities are adequate. It is fairly obvious that John was not as deeply asleep as Sherlock thought, or he has gotten good at faking it, because as Mycroft turns toward the bed, he sees the former soldier watching him. "Quite a light sleeper, I see. Left over from your military career?" he asks with a tight-lipped smile.

"Mycroft." John greets in a cold voice, the drugs making him forget at the moment that he really shouldn't know the elder Holmes' name. "What, no flowers? Balloons? Get well card? I'm hurt." He says as he looks at the British government in a three piece suit.

"I see you've been working on your wit. Sherlock has told you about me, I see." Mycroft observes as he looks at John. "No need to be so hostile, especially since I was the one who got you these accommodations. I thought you and my brother would appreciate the time alone since your date plans were so suddenly interrupted." he says casually as he watches the man in front of him. "I hope you weren't too badly hurt."

Snorting quietly as he watches Mycroft for a few moments, John shrugs his good shoulder. "It could have been a lot worse. I came away without any broken bones, just a few cracked ribs." he says as he looks at Mycroft. "Just enough to make getting around bloody annoying." he says with a roll of his eyes, "You know, if Sherlock catches you here he'll be less than pleased." The doctor points out as he looks at the other Holmes.

"Sherlock is always less than pleased with me." Mycroft says before he sighs. "But you are right, it is best that I leave, now that I have made sure that you are receiving adequate care. It would be a shame if anything were to happen to you, especially since Sherlock is so very.. fond.. of you.." he says before he adds, "If there is anything you need, Mr. Watson, don't hesitate to call." he says before he turns and walks out of the room.

Laying there for a few moments in silence, John sighs. He's bored, Sherlock has probably gone out to find something to occupy his brain with. Which is fine, he doesn't mind that, he knows what the detective is like, especially when he's bored. Still, it doesn't keep him from missing the younger man's company. The last day - has it only just been a day? - has been so strange for him. Besides getting hit by the car, it's more the way that his brilliant genius has been acting. If John didn't know any better, he would have thought that John being hit by a car really scared him, but he doesn't think that Sherlock Holmes gets scared. At least, it's not something that he's ever seen.

Slowly running a his hand through his hair, John smiles as he thinks about his detective and the way he's been acting. He's been caring and gentle, in his own way and it's something that John's quite enjoying. But he knows that eventually he'll go back to his own flat, and who knows how long it will be until he sees Sherlock again after that.

"Don't get too used to it, Watson, or you're just going to get hurt, again."

* * *

**As promised... Mycroft! I decided to make him a little less hateful than in some of the other things I've written. Then again, he is younger, so who knows what might have happened between here and the show?**

**Hope you're enjoying it, thank you for all the reviews and the follows!**

**Comments/reviews welcome, as always!**


	12. Chapter 12

It's another full day before the nurses decide that John can go home, especially since he's a medical student, and he's already displayed that he can take care of his own needs, as stubborn as he is. Sherlock of course is there to assist in getting him out of the hospital and into a taxi. Before John can say anything, the detective gives his address, sitting back casually and checking his phone. After a moment, he sees the ex-soldier looking at him, waiting for an explanation. Letting out a little sigh, Sherlock shifts and turns to look at him. "It wouldn't be wise for you to return to your flat alone in your condition. You can barely sit up on your own, much less move about. You will need assistance at least until your ribs are feeling better." He say stubbornly. "I have a spare room, it seems logical for you to stay with me."

For a few moments, John just stares at Sherlock, then he smirks a little. "I didn't know you cared that much." He says playfully as he reaches out and takes the detective's hand for a moment, giving it a little squeeze. "Thank you." He says before nodding. "We still need to go back to my flat to get some clothes and everything for me." he reminds the good looking man beside him. He realizes that he should probably put up more of a fight than that, but he's a doctor and he's being realistic. He knows that it hurts like hell to sit up, that walking is even harder between his ribs and the cut on his leg. And while he's never thought of Sherlock as one that is able to take care of another human being, the one sitting beside him is proving to be a little different.

"I.. already took the liberty of bringing some of your things over. A suitcase, when I knew you were going to be released. While you were asleep, in case you're wondering when." Sherlock says simply as he glances over at John, not sure how that news will be taken. He also made sure that his flat was somewhat presentable, in that the guest room was neat and tidy so that John would feel at home, while at least there aren't random dishes around the rest of his flat. That was about the extent of his cleaning. But he figures it won't be a shock to John if the older man knows him so well.

Chuckling a little and nodding quietly, John smirks, "Of course you did." he says with a shake of his head and affection in his tone. He shifts a little, since the hospital gave him a sling for his arm, only because the dislocated shoulder was so close to the bullet wound. "Well, it seems like I'm moving in with you again, Sherlock. At least temporarily. Blimey, I bet I have a lot of homework to make up." He sighs a little. "I always hated homework." he muses as he looks out the window slowly.

Relaxing a little at how easily John accepts that, Sherlock smiles and nods. "It seems you are." he says as he looks at John, not having thought about it that way. It's not long before the arrive at a rather nice part of town and a nice flat, Sherlock getting out first and moving over to help John out of the car after paying the cabbie. The progress is slow and John leans heavily on the taller man but at least the lift is in working order, so getting to Sherlock's second story apartment is a little less painful. "Alright. I give up. You don't seem to have a job, but somehow you're paying for university and this flat. How did you manage that?" he asks as he looks over at Sherlock in confusion.

That confusion is met by a similar expression on Sherlock's face as he looks at John. "You're aware my family is rather.. well off." he says as he unlocks the door, waiting for John's nod. "Mycroft and I both have trust funds." he explains as he helps John inside and over to a chair in the mess that is the living room, putting a pillow on the coffee table before helping the older man to put this leg up. "I gained access to mine when I turned 18. Since I was a good boy and didn't get into any major trouble." He says as he looks at the other man curiously.

More than a little surprised at this revelation, John shakes his head slowly. "Of course. I should have questioned that after seeing your parents' house.." He says as he rubs a hand over his face. "You.. the other you.. probably lost access to your trust fund after you started using drugs, since you would have been using that money to buy drugs. At least, that's an understandable reason." he says as he looks at Sherlock. "Another good reason not to go mucking about with mind-altering substances." He notes as he tilts his head back a little against the chair. "This is a nice flat, though." he admits, noticing that it's still an older styling building and his furniture is still a mix between modern and traditional. Sherlock's favorite black leather chair is there, as well as the couch, though sadly he notices 'his' chair is missing, and instead he's sitting in a slightly different wing-backed chair.

"We've already had this discussion, John, surely you know I hate repeating myself." Sherlock says as he shrugs out of his jacket and hangs it up, going to the kitchen to make some tea for the both of them. "How do you take your tea, John?" he asks over his shoulder.

"Two sugars. No milk." John says as he turns a little to see where Sherlock has one, immediately regretting it as he grunts in pain and puts a hand over his ribs, muttering a few curses under his breath.

Appearing at his side, Sherlock frowns a little. "You need to be careful." he says as he looks at the other man, before he reaches out, fingertips brushing along John's jaw. "Your bruises are healing well." he decides quietly as he looks at the older man for a few moments, concerned.

"Yes, they are." John says with a small smile. "Well, I guess this flat is the difference between a trust fund and an army pension." He jokes lightly before he sighs. "I'm fine, Sherlock." he says as he reaches up to take the hand away from his cheek. "Nothing that a few weeks of rest won't cure." Hesitating for a moment, he says, "I should tell you, I have nightmares sometimes. Not from this life, but the previous one. PTSD is how my therapist diagnosed it." He says as he looks away from Sherlock, but doesn't release the other man's hand just yet. "So don't worry, alright?" He asks, surprised that he even has to warn the detective about something like that, since his Sherlock never seemed to worry about anything, much less about him.

Frowning briefly, Sherlock squeezes John's hand for a moment. "You should tell me about it sometime." He says quietly as he looks at John. "As long as it wouldn't reveal anything you think would be.. compromising." For a few moments, he continues to look down at the former soldier before releasing his hand when the kettle pops at him, and he goes to make the tea, bringing back two mugs and handing one to the injured man.

"Maybe sometime, Sherlock, but not tonight." he says with a small shake of his head, sighing as he sips his tea, nodding quietly. "That's quite good." he notes with a little surprise, tilting his head back against the chair and closing his eyes. "Oh, it's good to be out of that bloody hospital.." he mutters softly, "Even if I can't do much more here. At least you won't be driving me up a wall with your pacing." He notes with a small smile, sipping his tea slowly before he sighs. "These bloody painkillers just make me want to sleep all the time, though." he says with a slightly annoyed tone to his voice.

"Well, perhaps we should get you into bed, then." Sherlock says as he looks at the older man for a few moments, sipping his own tea as he perches in his chair, slipping out of his shoes and unbuttoning his suit jacket. He's really not sure what to do now that he's gotten John here in his apartment, he just knows that he's glad the older man is there.

A small hum of approval comes from John and he nods quietly as he finishes his tea, before he looks at Sherlock. "I hope you stole something for me to sleep in from my flat.." he says before he holds out his hand in a silent request for help.

Quickly rising, Sherlock moves over and helps John up out of the chair, "I need to check your bandages before you go to sleep." he says as he helps John down the hall and into the sparse but clean guest room, a John's suitcase nowhere to be seen, but his toiletries are sitting on top of the dresser. Leaving John for a moment, Sherlock goes to pull the covers down on the bed, then he retrieves pajamas for John. "Try to undress and I'll go get the supplies the nurse gave us." he says before he wanders out. Though it hurts, John manages to get his shirt off, and his jeans, sitting down slowly on the edge of the bed he manages to get a t-shirt back on but leaves the pajama pants aside right now as he looks at the bandage on his leg.'

Before too long, Sherlock comes back, kneeling down in front of John to carefully remove the old bandage. "You haven't pulled any stitches out, that's good.." he says before he carefully puts the provided cream across the wound to help reduce scarring and keep infection down from the outside before he puts another bandage carefully over it, smoothing down the tape quietly. "There." he says before he helps John into his pajama pants, knowing it's hard for the other man to bend over. "Careful.." He says slowly as he helps John lay down. "Alright?" he finally asks once John is laying down and tucked in.

John is more than a little frustrated by being taken care of, even if he knows it's necessary. "I'm fine.. thank you, Sherlock." He hesitates for a moment, having gotten used to seeing Sherlock when he woke and fell asleep. "Would you mind.. sitting here for a bit until I fall asleep? I just.. got used to you sitting there, it might help in a place I'm not familiar with." He explains as he watches the younger man.

Nodding a little, Sherlock hesitates before he leans over and kisses John's forehead gently. "Of course." he says as he sits on the edge of the bed, reaching out to gently pick up John's hand.

"Sleep well, John."

* * *

**So, SO sorry! I know it's been a few days since my last update, but my other Sherlock fic, and my new Bond fic have been taking up more of my time. I am going to try and update this every other day now, switch off with updating my other Sherlock fic. That is the plan at least.**

**I know this is little more than a filler chapter, nothing really more in it, and I am probably going to do a bit of a time skip in my next chapter to when John is feeling better so that I can kick things into gear. Did anyone see Lestrade make a brief appearance in the other chapter? Oh yes, he will be making more of an appearance soon! And of course Sherlock still owes John a date. :D Lots more to come!**

**Thank you all who are following this or have commented, and again, I am sorry for taking so long to update. x.x**

**Comments/Reviews welcome!**


	13. Chapter 13

Over the next few days, they fall into a sort of routine. Sherlock helps John up in the mornings, makes him breakfast and tea, helps him in and out of the shower and to a spot in the living room where he can read or watch tellie, or do his homework on his laptop. Sometimes Sherlock stays in, doing his experiments or reading, sometimes he disappears for hours on end, leaving John to try and get around the flat by himself if he wants something to eat or drink. Which is fine, John knows he needs to not rely on Sherlock too much, or he won't recover properly.

About a week after he starts staying with Sherlock, John lays in bed looking up at the ceiling in the morning, having been awake for a few hours. He can't help it, when he's by himself, it's easy to let his mind wander and he thinks about how different things are now. Which has led him to start thinking about his Sherlock, wondering what happened to his other body, if things are just going on as normal, or if he's in a coma, who is taking care of Sherlock? Who is making sure he's eating and sleeping, and does the detective even notice that John is gone?

The last thought is the most painful, and the doctor finds himself taking a deep breath, a tear leaking out of the corner of his eye and disappearing into his blonde hair. "Sherlock.." He whispers into the air, then he mumbles. "I hope you're ok..."

Opening the door to wake John up as he has for the last week, Sherlock blinks a few times upon hearing the former soldier talking to himself. "John? Are you alright?" He asks in a concerned tone as he walks over and sits down on the edge of the bed, reaching out to brush away the moisture at the corner of the older man's eye.

Glancing over at the detective who walks in the door, John smiles a little. "I'm sorry..." he says, shaking his head. "I just.. I can't help thinking about the other you..." He smiles sadly."If my other body is laying in a coma or something, what happened to you? I just wonder if you're doing ok, if someone is making you eat and sleep properly, or at least trying to make you. Or if you care at all." he says before he sighs. "In a way, I miss him. You are him, but you're not. Being here is brilliant, and I am glad that what happened did happen, so I can see you like this.." He reaches out and takes Sherlock's hand gently, giving it a little squeeze. "But I worry about him." he says thoughtfully, before he shrugs his good shoulder. "I couldn't sleep very well last night, I'm sorry if I'm not making a lot of sense." He admits, finally averting his eyes from the gorgeous man in front of him.

Considering all of this for a few moments, Sherlock nods in understanding. "I think I understand, John. I wish I could give you false reassurances that the other me would be alright, but I am not sure that I would be. So I cannot say for certain that he would be, either." He says quietly, finding this kind of conversation somewhat confusing but struggling through it for John's sake. "We probably will never know what brought you here, or how long you'll stay. Perhaps one day you'll disappear on me as well." He says quietly, even though he feels a tightness in his chest at that thought, his hand tightening around John's. "I hope you won't go too soon.." He says before he hesitates, leaning over John slowly, lowering his head and brushing a light kiss along the older man's lips. "We haven't even had our first date yet." he says with a little smile, looking into those deep blue eyes for a moment before he straightens and clears his throat a little, looking away in embarrassment.

"I still don't understand how this happened, Sherlock. And maybe.. maybe it isn't happening. I've heard it said that coma patients experience some very real dreams sometimes when they're unconscious." John says before he squeezes Sherlock's hand gently. "Afterall, you're so different. So much more open, willing to take a chance, and .. more open to a possible relationship. Those are things that perhaps I hoped for from the other you, but I never expected to get." The ex soldier says as he looks up at Sherlock, pulling his hand over and pressing it over his heart gently. "And if this is real, if it's not just a coma dream, or my mind having cracked finally, I think that's more terrifying. Because I don't know how this could have happened." He admits as he looks at Sherlock. "It feels real enough, but how can you send a person's mind from the future into their past body, or a different body at least.." he says with a shake of his head.

Watching his soldier, Sherlock tries to think up of what to say, what to do to make the older man feel better. Finally, he decides the truth is best. "I don't know how or why this happened, John. It is beyond anything I know. I could give you theories, but they would just be fantasies." He says as he continues to watch John. "I think it's safe to assume that however it happened it has happened." Removing his hand from John's chest, he takes the future doctor's hand and presses it against his own chest, over his heart. "That is my heart, this is me, I am here and I am real." He insists, leaning down again slowly. Since the first kiss went over so well he sees no reason why he shouldn't repeat it, leaning down and giving John another tender kiss. "Stay here, with me, John." He whispers hopefully as he looks at the other man intensely.

For a few moments John isn't sure what to say, then he smiles softly and nods slowly. He lightly returns the kiss, sliding one hand up into that ridiculous hair, - something he's wanted to do for a while - and sinks his fingertips into the thick locks. He initiates a soft kiss this time and then smiles. "I know you're real, Sherlock." he reassures softly with a little smile. "I'm not going anywhere. I may worry about the other you, but it doesn't mean I don't want to be here with you. Maybe I'm just feeling a bit under the weather from these bloody injuries." he says as he looks down at himself.

Guilt crosses Sherlock's face for a moment before he pushes it aside, slowly removing John's hand from his hair before getting up. "Well come on, then. Up you go, I made breakfast again, you need a shower, and then perhaps we can try going for a walk." He offers as he watches John, wanting to chase away the shadows that have formed in the man's eyes and make him smile again.

Nodding a little, John takes a deep breath before he winces and forces himself to sit up, letting out the breath as he takes a moment to keep his head from spinning, then he swings his legs over the edge of the bed slowly. "Well, at least if I'm going to have to deal with a nurse, I get the gorgeous one." he says with a little smirk at Sherlock, knowing that the younger man doesn't deal well with compliments about his looks, though he hasn't figure out why yet, since it's rather obvious that the detective is attractive.

Huffing a little in frustration, Sherlock can feel his cheeks go pink and he glowers a little at John. "You will not distract me with flowery words." he says with a firm tone, holding out his hands as an offer to help John stand up.

Grabbing onto the pale hands in front of him, John pulls himself to his feet, taking a deep breath and sighing. "Well, it was worth a try, wasn't it?" he teases as he looks up at the lanky detective, smiling a little. "At least you let me have some freedom, here." He says with a little sigh, keeping a hold of one of Sherlock's hands as he hobbles toward the bathroom. "Promise me you'll be careful when you go out wandering the streets of London, Sherlock." he says suddenly as he turns to look at the detective, standing in the doorway of the bathroom.

Although he's not sure where that comment came from, Sherlock can see the sincerity behind it and the fear and he understands it. John is afraid for him, afraid that something will happen to him and he'll be left all alone in this world. For a moment he looks at John, glancing him over, taking in the stance, the way he holds himself to show how much pain he's really in, nodding slowly after a few moments.

"I promise, John. I'll be careful."

* * *

**Thank you to Ziael for giving me the inspiration for this chapter, I hope this update is soon enough. ;) I couldn't get this idea out of my head, so here it is!**

**Also, thank you to Spades who made me think about where I am going with this story and making me realize where I want it to go and how I want it to end. I now have a destination in mind, so I think this story is going to be shorter than I originally had planned. Of course, originally it was going to be a one-shot, but that didn't happen, did it?**

**I'm thinking maybe another 5 chapters or so should get me where I want to go to finish it up. And then maybe I can work on expanding one of my other one-shots. :)**

**Thank you for everyone who is following and reading this story, and thank you to my lovely reviewers.**

**Please let me know what you think! Reviews/comments very welcome!**


	14. Chapter 14

As John heals, things fall into a dangerously familiar pattern. It seems that even younger, Sherlock is prone to experiments, even if he doesn't have the connections to get the body parts he might want yet. John tries to contain his exasperation though since he's just a guest. Eventually he's well enough that he could return to his own apartment but he's not sure how to approach Sherlock with that proposition, since it seems like the detective likes having John around. After that one morning, they haven't kissed or anything else, backtracking a little, though that may be partially because Sherlock is afraid of hurting John more with his injuries.

After a few weeks, John is able to move around on his own, though he has to use a cane to keep some of his weight off his bad leg. It's familiar, but not in a good way, and he always glares at his cane in distaste. He does have a habit of being in the wrong place at the wrong time though, having been sent to the shops by Sherlock because the detective can't be arsed to do it himself. Ever.

And as he's calling Sherlock to try and figure out if there's anything else the detective needs from the drug store, several masked men come in with guns, deciding to fire first and ask questions later. John keeps the line open to Sherlock, letting him know what's going on, managing to say. "Robbery. Listen and for the love of God, Sherlock, stay quiet." he hisses over the line before all the people get ushered toward the back by one gun-toting robber.

Everything after that happens in a blur. The robbers mostly get what they want, several guns go off, and at least one patron ends up on the floor, with John trying to attend to him, though the shot to the stomach is most certainly fatal. John can't save him no matter how hard he tries, and by the time the EMT's get there, one robber dead and the others having gotten away, it's too late. Both the robber and the patron are dead, and John has to keep himself from claiming to be a doctor, explaining that he's a medical student and a former soldier, he thought that he could do something. He ends up sitting in the back of an ambulance, scrubbing his hands clean with moist wipes the best that he can.

Keeping the phone on, Sherlock leaves the flat as soon as he hears what's going on, tracking John down but too late as well, getting there when the police and EMT's are already there. He finally manages to bully his way past the police line though. "You are all incompetent fools. Now kindly let me past!" He keeps walking, managing to keep from getting caught as he walks straight over to John. "John, are you hurt?" He asks worriedly as he puts his hands on either side of John's face, looking into his eyes in order to estimate his state of mind. "Let me do that." he mutters, taking the wipe from John and one of the older man's hands in his, starting to clean them the best that he can.

"I couldn't save them. Either of them." John says dully, having an orange blanket around his shoulders as he looks at Sherlock, grateful for his presence. "The shot that killed the shopper.. it didn't come from the robbers. The direction was all wrong. Someone took advantage of the situation." He says firmly as he looks into Sherlock's eyes for a moment.

Nodding a little, Sherlock watches John. "We'll find out what happened." he reassures as he continues to watch his ex-soldier, lifting the wipe to get some blood off of John's face, worried by the way the doctor looks almost defeated.

Slowly, a man approaches the two, brown hair starting to turn gray, taller than John but shorter than Sherlock, just finishing up a cigarette which he puts out under the heel of his loafers. He wears a nice suit and a long trench coat over that, probably police of some sort. "Hello." he says as he approaches, voice a little rough but light, almost musical. "I'm Sergeant Greg Lestrade, Scotland Yard, Homicide." He introduces as he looks between the two men. "I was told that you were a witness, and you tried to help those poor blokes." He notes as he looks over at the bodies that are being loaded up on stretchers. "Do you think you can tell me, in your own words, what happened?" He asks as he looks at John.

A little surprised to see Lestrade there, John clears his throat, "I'm John Watson, nice to meet you, Sergeant." He says with a nod to Lestrade, glancing at Sherlock to try and convey that he recognizes the man in front of them. "The younger man, he wasn't killed by the robbers, trajectory of the bullet was all wrong. I can provide you with a sketch tomorrow of where everyone was when I heard the first shot." he offers as he watches Lestrade. "There were three men, all in ski masks, one was around five ten, built, medium complexion, brown eyes. He was the one giving all the orders, obviously the leader, rough voice. Sounded like he smoked over a pack a day, deep voice, too." John relays as he closes his eyes to remember better. "The other one that got away was smaller, really nervous, hooked nose, heavy eyebrows, beady eyes, I couldn't see the color, very pale. Looked like he might have had a bit of a skin condition as well, or he had a bad sunburn. Hard to tell at the distance I was at, and with the mask and all." He says quietly, almost unconsciously grasping one of Sherlock's hands in his. then he remembers something, opening his eyes. "Sorry, this is Sherlock Holmes, my.. uh.. that is, he's.." he trails off, not knowing how to refer to Sherlock really.

"I'm his boyfriend." Sherlock says flatly, as blunt as ever and taking liberties even if they haven't had their first date and only shared one kiss. He glances Lestrade over for a moment, "Don't propose, she won't be loyal to you, she's looking for someone to provide for her, but whose job is busy enough to give her free reign. You're right to suspect she's cheating on you." he says bluntly before he looks back at John/

"And you just remembered all that?" Lestrade asks in surprise as he looks at John, then he looks over at Sherlock, frowning. "What the bloody hell are you going on about?!" He demands, getting somewhat pissed off at the younger man.

Holding up his hand toward Lestrade, John smiles. "Sherlock might be able to help you, he's brilliant with this sort of thing. Ask him how he figured out all of that." He offers with a slightly proud smile.

Instead of asking, Lestrade looks at Sherlock skeptically and then he sighs, "I have a feeling I'm going to regret this. Go on, then, Mr. Holmes." he says, being just curious enough to give the young man a chance.

"Bulge in your pocket, clearly a jewelry box, too small to be anything but a ring. No ring on your finger, nor any sign of ever wearing one. And from the way you keep fiddling with it, I'd say that it's an engagement ring, waiting for the perfect time to propose. You seem devoted to your job, especially given the fact that you're willing to listen to my explanation, means you're relatively open-minded, but you've got dark circles under your eyes. You haven't been sleeping well. That indicates either something weighing on you emotionally or you're on a difficult case. Given that you're here asking us questions, that means that you aren't on a case. So it's an emotional issue. Most likely you're doubting whether or not you should propose. You must have been given a reason to worry, and the most common reason is infidelity. Your job takes up a lot of your time and since you're devoted to it, that means not a lot of home life. Not many women would put up with that in the long run. But since you're hoping to become Detective Inspector, that means a significant raise in finances. Of course, you may also be having doubts because of your sexuality." Sherlock says as he glances Lestrade over. "You're bisexual, you've always preferred men but that's not as socially acceptable, so you pursued a woman. I saw the way you were looking at John when you came over, he is a fine specimen but please keep your hands to yourself seeing as he's already spoken for. You also seem to be admiring a few other of your fellow men in uniform when you think no one is looking. Of course, you also looked at that girl over there with the ridiculously short skirt." The detective says as he indicates the right girl. "You're afraid to go for what you really want however, since you think it will hurt your chances to become a Detective Inspector. If you had been hurt badly in the past or trying to deny that part of yourself you wouldn't be so obvious in your appraisal of the opposite sex." he explains, "I think perhaps you should call your girlfriend. You're halfway through your shift, not the type to skive off, so she would know she can do what she likes. You can tell clearly by how she answers the phone, whether or not she's cheating on you." Sherlock finally finishes, glancing Lestrade over for a moment before he looks back at John with concern, focusing back on his task of cleaning up John's hands.

Lestrade looks rather like a deer in headlights, and he exhales, not realizing he had been holding his breath. A few deep breaths are given as he stares at Sherlock. "Bloody hell." he finally says, running a hand through his short hair. And apparently he was listening and doesn't just get pissed off, frowning as he realizes how close to the mark that Sherlock hit on certain things, pulling out his cell phone as he wanders away a few feet.

"Huh. Never knew Lestrade was bisexual." John says quietly with a small chuckle, leaning his head against the taller man's shoulder for a moment. "Boyfriend huh?" He asks with a little smirk. "This mean you're finally going to take me out on that date you promised?" He asks with a tired smile, sitting back a little to look into the mercurial eyes of the man in front of him.

Sherlock arches an eyebrow. "You do know him, then. You will have to tell me more about him later." He says quietly as he looks at his soldier. "It was quite obvious. You see but you do not observe, John." he says in a slightly frustrated tone, shaking his head for a few moments and then sighing. "Yes, I will take you on the date, I already have it planned." Avoiding looking John in the eyes, he turns the older man's hands over to make sure he didn't miss any spots. "Was it too presumptuous of me?" he asks nervously, thinking about the boyfriend bit.

With a little smile, John shakes his head a little, putting his hand lightly behind Sherlock's neck, pulling him forward until their foreheads rest together. He closes his eyes for a few moments, smiling. "No, it wasn't too presumptuous. I'm honored you'd call me, of all people, your boyfriend." He can't help but snicker a little at a thought that he just had.

"I wonder if Mycroft is Lestrade's type."

* * *

**I realize that I may have been a little hasty when I said how soon this story may end. Spades made me realize there's much more that I could do to this, so once again I have no limit. I know where I want to go, but I'm not sure how long it will take me to get there. I also realize probably no one reads these comments, but that's alright. Hopefully everyone will join me for this particular journey and not mind if I take the scenic route. :D**

**Thank you to everyone who has reviewed so far. Everyone on here is wonderful, and so nice! I honestly expected some horribly mean reviews about my writing, by now. Not that I'm complaining, of course. :D**

**Please let me know what you think, reviews/comments welcome!**


	15. Chapter 15

That draws a little chuckle from the soon to be detective as he looks at John. "Now I know you must not be in your right mind. Otherwise, why would you want anything to do with my brother?" he asks with a little smirk as he looks at John, glancing over to where Lestrade is having a lively conversation on his mobile.

Smirking a little at the taller man, John nods quietly. "Maybe I'm just in shock, look, I have a shock blanket." He says as he plucks at it, chuckling a little. "It's always hard to lose someone, a patient I meant. Even if neither of them were strictly my patients, there's nothing that I could do for them, and that's hard." he says honestly as he looks up at the other man. "I just wish Lestrade would get done on his phone so I could go home. didn't even get a chance to buy the things I needed. Bloody robbers." He grumbles quietly.

Lestrade finally comes back with pursed lips, slipping his phone into his pocket and looking annoyed. "You can do that to a crime scene, see all that?" he demands of Sherlock skeptically.

Looking a little smug, Sherlock nods a little. "Of course. You can ring me at my flat tomorrow with all the pertinent information, I have to take my boyfriend back to the flat. He's still in shock you see, they even gave him a blanket, and I really think he should eat something since he's still recovering from being hit by a car." he says as he reaches out and helps John to his feet, pulling out his mobile and hitting a few buttons on it. "That's my number, text me any details, I prefer to text." he says casually before he takes John's hand in his, a little possessively before he starts to lead him away from the crime scene. "Taxi!" he calls when they're outside the police tape, watching the car that instantly pulls up.

"You are amazing." John feels the need to say before he chuckles a little. "How long have you had his mobile number?" he asks curiously as he gets into the cab, giving the address to his own flat without thinking about it.

"Wait." Sherlock says to the cabbie, then he turns to John. "Why are we going back to your flat? I thought you would be staying with me now?" He asks, pouting a little and looking a little worried. And perhaps just a little scared, reaching out for John's hand again.

Knowing that this conversation was coming is not going to make it any easier. Instead of replying, he gives the cabbie Sherlock's address before he turns to look at the younger man, giving his hand a little squeeze. "Sherlock." He begins slowly. "Is that your way of asking me to move in with you?" he asks, arching an eyebrow for a moment.

"You already are living with me, you've been there three weeks, but you wouldn't have been able to move all your things over because you've been injured. You mentioned us being flatmates before, and it is proven now that you are indeed capable, even while injured, of dealing with my many faults. And I am able to care for you while you're injured, which leads me to believe that we would be well suited to live together." Sherlock says casually as if it is the most obvious thing in the world.

Scrubbing his hand over his face for a moment, John just shakes his head and smiles softly as he looks at Sherlock. "You may be a genius, but sometimes you're a bloody idiot." he says with another shake of his head. "I was staying with you because I needed help getting around and you insisted. But-" He holds a hand up when it looks like Sherlock is going to interrupt, squeezing his hand lightly to try and reassure the younger man who looks a little crestfallen. "I wouldn't mind being flatmates with you, Sherlock. But generally people like to be asked these sorts of things, rather than have it be assumed." He explains patiently as he looks at his detective and (former?) best friend.

Slowly relaxing, bit by bit when John keeps talking, Sherlock squeezes John's hand in return for a few moments before he takes a slow, deep breath. "Would you care to be my flatmate, John?" He asks, arching an eyebrow, his tone of voice and look on his face make it clear that he really thinks it's idiotic he has to ask. But he's doing it for John, who wants him to ask, so he's asking.

John laughs softly at Sherlock, and then he nods quietly. "Yes, that would be lovely, Sherlock." He says formally in return, shaking his head and then looking out the window for a few moments, not releasing the man's hand but he falls quiet, amused. At least until his phone pings, and he pulls it out of his pocket, arching an eyebrow and showing Sherlock the text.

A crime scene? You do attract trouble. How is my dear brother? -MH

"What should I tell him? You're the one that wants to feed him information." John offers, removing his hand from the detective's so that he can text back properly.

Arching an eyebrow at the text, Sherlock snorts softly and then shakes his head. "Tell him I'm fine, I might have a consulting job soon. And a new flatmate." He says with a little grin as he glances at the man beside him.

I think I might have gotten him a consulting job with Scotland Yard. And I'm moving in with him officially, apparently. -JW

And after a moment, he starts another text as he thinks of something else to say:

Sherlock is being a git. In other words, his normal self. I'm doing well, too, by the way, thanks for asking. -JW

Reading over his shoulder, Sherlock pouts a little, though he does that thing where he tries to pretend he's not pouting when he really is. "How am I being a git?" he asks, confused and a little bit frustrated and annoyed.

John chuckles a little as he glances over at Sherlock. "Well for one, you're reading my texts over my shoulder." he says before he sighs a little. "I hope Lestrade truly does call you, he's a good man, and he's one of the few who believes in you. In what you can do." he says with another little smile. "Besides, I miss chasing criminals across London with you. And that's not something I ever thought I would find myself saying." he says thoughtfully, tucking his mobile back away in his pocket.

Shaking his head for a few moments, Sherlock gives one of those, soft, rare half-smiles as he looks at his new flatmate. "Your leg isn't good enough to run yet." He says in concern, looking at the exact spot where the injury was. Unable to help himself, Sherlock leans over a little and puts his chin lightly on John's shoulder. "Would you like to go on our date tonight?" he offers as he watches John. "I already have most of it arranged while you were out at the shops, at least that's what I was doing until you went and got yourself in the middle of a robbery." He huffs in frustration as he watches the ex soldier.

A little surprised at the change in subject, John chuckles a little and he nods quietly. "You know, the first time we met.. I mean.. before.. I had a psychosomatic limp. This time it's a real one." he says thoughtfully as he looks down at his leg. He looks back at the detective, lifting his hand and brushing back some of those silly curls on his forehead, admiring the gorgeous man for a few moments.

"I would love to have our date tonight, Sherlock."

* * *

**Short chapters for me tonight. Sherlock will finally start to work with Scotland Yard. Of course, it helps that he had a little assistance from John, though not all of it was on purpose! :D**

**Hope you all enjoy. Please let me know what you think!**


	16. Chapter 16

Far too pleased with that answer, the rest of the ride is in silence, and when they finally get back to the flat, Sherlock gets out and helps John out and up to the flat, where he disappears with only a little smile at John. "Dress in something warm." He says before he leaves to, presumably, finish his preparations.

Chuckling a little, John wonders if he even has anything nice to change into, so he goes in search of the clothes that Sherlock brought over, laughing as he notices a nice shirt hanging up behind the door. It seems Sherlock prepared for everything. So he goes about getting ready the way he would for any other date. He showers, shaves, dresses, carefully perfects his appearance in the mirror, and then fidgets. Finally, he emerges from the bathroom, in time to see a very dashing looking Sherlock, dressed in another lovely suit with John's favorite purple shirt.

"You look.. amazing. But you probably know just how good you look, already." John says playfully with a little smirk as he walks over - with the aid of his cane of course - to where the tall man is standing in the middle of the sitting area.

Looking down at John, raking over his form with his eyes, Sherlock gives a small, satisfied smile. "I knew that shirt would look good on you." The detective says with a little smirk as he looks over the older man, then he holds out his hand. "Shall we?" He asks, thrumming with nervous energy as he looks at the former soldier.

Reaching out, John slides his calloused hand into the softer one of the detective's, nodding a little. "Very much." And when he is led instead toward Sherlock's bedroom rather than out the front door, he looks curious. "Sherlock..?" He asks, but all he gets is a secretive smile in return. The answer soon becomes clear, though, one of the windows open in the messy bedroom he had never set foot in, and beyond that is a fire escape, which is where Sherlock is apparently leading him.

Almost giddy with anticipation, Sherlock leads John up the stairs to the roof, where there's a table set up with

candles set around strategically to give it a light glow, covers on the food on the table to keep it from getting cold.

The shock must have been obvious on John's face as he stood there, mouth slightly agape, taking in the scene before him, and beyond that, the glowing sunset over London's skyline, the kind that made it look like some of the city was on fire. "Bloody hell, Sherlock.." he breathes in surprise as he looks around. "This is.. beyond beautiful.." He says as he looks at everything. "It's.. perfect. And.. unexpected." He admits with a little, shocked laugh, stepping toward the table slowly. When the chair is even pulled out for him, he gives the detective a wry smile before he sits down to see what is in store for him next.

This actually took quite a bit of planning on Sherlock's part, at least enough planning to keep it hidden from John, but thankfully the fire escape is from his bedroom so he could pretend to be doing something in his bedroom while preparing all of this. Pulling the tops off the pasta dishes, the detective sets them aside and he nods. "Good. Isn't that what a good date ought to be?" he asks, arching an eyebrow as he looks at his companion, before he pulls out a bottle of wine he opened earlier, pouring them both a glass before setting the bottle back and sitting down across from the older man.

"Well.. yes, actually." John admits. "Blimey, this smells delicious.." he admits, then he blushes a little up to the tips of his ears as he feels his stomach growling in response, reminding him that he hasn't had a proper meal all day. Waiting for a moment, he reaches out and takes a sip of the wine before he looks down at his plate and slowly starts to eat. "This is amazing, thank you.." he says, enjoying the meal, pasta of any sort being one of his favorite dishes.

Sherlock just smirks a little at his doctor and nods, picking up his fork to eat as well, licking his lips. "I'm glad you like it, I thought it would be a safe dish." He says as a cool, moist breeze flutters the tablecloth, but a simple glance upward reveals clear sky still, which makes Sherlock sigh in relief.

"Where did you even get the idea for this?" John asks as he looks around. "This doesn't seem the sort of thing that you would just think up all on your own." He points out, tilting his head to the side a little as he continues to look at his companion and still eats, sipping his wine occasionally.

"I remember seeing it somewhere, I don't remember exactly where." Sherlock says dismissively, waving an elegant hand in front of him. "I wanted it to be something special so you wouldn't forget it." he admits, showing just a touch of insecurity. The young man then looks down at his plate, before he peeks up at the doctor in front of him.

Sometimes it's hard to remember that this man in front of him is fifteen years younger and vastly different in experiences from the man that John knew. So things like a little insecurity, wanting to please his date, catch John off-guard and he can't help but smile fondly, extending one leg under the table to judge it against Sherlock's, before he reaches across the table to put his hand on top of the detective's. "I will always remember this, Sherlock, I can promise you that." he says with a little smile as he gazes into those mercurial eyes.

Obviously pleased with that response, Sherlock finishes his meal rather quickly, then he just sits there looking at his companion, admiring him from this sandy blonde hair and strong shoulders, to the deft, nimble fingers that he has no doubt will serve him well when he's certified as a doctor. He tents his fingers together in front of him as he analyzes everything about his - dare he say - friend, and possibly - very hopefully! - boyfriend. Yes, he made that assumption earlier and John went with it, but that doesn't mean he'll stick with it.

It's amusing the way the detective is staring at him, but it's also a little disconcerting, the way that it usually is. He can't help it, he finishes his meal and looks up into those eyes again as he slowly sips his wine.

"Alright.. what is it? What is your mind conjuring now?

* * *

**Urgh, this chapter is not up to my personal standards. Sorry. Just too cold and tired tonight I suppose, but I wanted to get something up for you guys. I do have other ideas that I have yet to write up, and there will be more Lestrade, and maybe more Mycroft, but I also wanted to get their date in.**

**Anyway, hope it wasn't disappointing, there will be more, better chapters to come, promise!**

**Let me know what you think, reviews/comments welcome!**


	17. Chapter 17

Instead of answering John, Sherlock gets up and smiles, pulling out a little CD player from a place by his side of the table, setting it up and then reaching out for John. "Shall we dance?" He says with a little smile, looking rather hopeful.

Laughing a little, John stands up. "So you know how to dance?" He shakes his head a little. "You will explain that to me some day, but not today." He says as he takes the hand and gets up. "But there's something else on your mind, Sherlock." He accuses gently as he watches the young man.

Sighing a little, Sherlock looks down at John as he draws the slightly shorter man into his arms, hitting play on the radio before he starts to move around with John slowly. "When you look at me.. do you see me, or him?" he asks curiously, having been thinking about it for a while, and to him it seems like a reasonable question.

Because he knew that this question would probably crop up eventually as well, John just smiles a little. "You're very similar, Sherlock, that's true. But you are so very different from him. You are so open. Maybe not as much as a normal person, but certainly compared to the Sherlock I knew." He considers for a few moments as they sway to the music. "But I can't look at you without thinking about him, even a little. You're identical in appearance. That's not what you're really asking thought." He notes thoughtfully as he looks at the taller man. "You want to know if the feelings I have are for you or for him." He says quietly before he sighs a little as he thinks about that question. "I was fond of my Sherlock, but.. would I have dated him? Could I have? I don't think I could have, not with how suspicious and closed off, how dismissive and arrogant he was. He was my best friend but that doesn't mean I didn't see his flaws. Whatever happened, between now and when I met him, was drastic. To answer your question in a roundabout way, my feelings are for you. You are the one I'm thinking about now.." He says quietly as they continue to move slowly to the soft music coming from the radio.

Seeming to relax a little under the words, Sherlock nods a little and he smiles, just pulling the smaller man closer against him as he dances, enjoying the closeness, being careful since John is still not steady on his feet, so he is sure that the hand around his waist is tight enough that John won't be able to fall if his leg gives away.

Soon enough however, John has to stop the dance, his leg becoming too sore, and he smiles. "I'm sorry, I'm not a very good first date.." he says as he moves over and sits down, putting his hand on his leg slowly but keeping one of Sherlock's capable hands in his, shifting to lift it and kiss it gently. "I had better get downstairs and put my leg up. This was wonderful, Sherlock.. I'm sorry I had to ruin it." he says quietly in a concerned tone as he watches his detective.

For a few moments Sherlock just shakes his head in dismissal an smiles lightly. "It's fine, John. Go downstairs and rest, I'll clean up here.." He says as he leans down and starts blowing out some of the candles, turning off the music.

Pushing himself to his feet, John grabs his cane with a little glare at it, and then he nods slowly. "I'll wait for you on the couch, and when you come down we can watch a bit of tellie." He offers as he watches Sherlock, not wanting to go to bed just yet.

"How could I give up an offer like that?" Sherlock teases, before he waves John off, collecting everything and bringing everything downstairs after John goes down, finally getting everything cleaned up before joining John on the couch, groaning a little as he sees what's on the TV and letting his head drop back against the couch, since he apparently doesn't approve.

Thankfully John is spared Sherlock's searing comments about the TV, because his cellphone buzzes somewhere in the living room, and the detective is immediately up looking for it. John reaches out, brushes some papers aside on the coffee table and picks up the mobile. Old habits die hard. "Here, Sherlock." he says with a little smile, holding the phone out to him.

Surprised that John finds it so easily, Sherlock reaches out and takes the phone. "Thank you." he says with a nod of his head, before he opens it to read the message. "Lestrade has requested our presence at Scotland Yard, there's been a development in the robbery." he hesitates for a moment, glancing at John's leg, apparently not sure if the older man is ready.

John grins a little, and he gets up. "I'm good." he says with a nod of his head, reassuring the younger man. "Lets go." he offers as he looks at him, turning off the TV before he goes to collect his jacket.

Grinning like a kid on Christmas morning, Sherlock nods quickly. "Lets go, then, John!" he says with a broad grin as he pulls on his jacket. "The game is on!" He says excitedly, snickering a little as he hurries out , hailing a cab before impatiently waiting for John.

"Oh, calm down, you impatient prat." John says good-naturedly as he comes out the door, laughing softly as he looks at the literally bouncing man. "Be nice." he says before he gets into the cab to head what he hopes will be one of many cases.

* * *

**Bit of a short chapter, but I'm leading up to something, and I had to finish the date. :)**

**Even if it is short, I hope everyone enjoys!**

**Reviews/comments welcome!**


	18. Chapter 18

One month, two current cases and probably a dozen cold cases later, Lestrade has accepted that yes, Sherlock can be a great help on the cases that can be a little more difficult for the Yard. It may not be strictly sanctioned but the close rates have been so bad for the department yesterday that everyone sort of looks the other way. For now, John tolerates it because he knows how much Lestrade truly does appreciate Sherlock's help. And the detective is a little less prickly this time around, though he does still go off on tangents before he will notice the looks some people are giving him and he'll turn to John for guidance as to what happened.

There is no doubt that with many things Sherlock Holmes is a brilliant man, a genius and a prodigy. Emotions an emotional responses in people are still somewhat a mystery to the detective. He can tell you about them in regards to what a murderer was feeling or what his motivations are, but when it comes to the everyday he does not understand most of the nuances. Something is a little disconnected in his mind, or he just doesn't care. It's sometimes hard to tell with him.

John's leg heals and with some exercise, it gets back to full strength, even if he does have a small bit of a limp still from where he was using the cane for a while, but it sort of lends itself to the slight swagger that he always has to his step. He moves entirely into Sherlock's flat, buying out the lease on his other apartment which sets him back a bit, even if Sherlock isn't concerned with money. They do some private cases as well, which do earn them a bit of money, something that is relegated to John. In between all the crime, John continues to work on his degree, getting back to classes, and before long he goes through finals, which is something that Sherlock is wonderful through.

That is something else that progresses. John and Sherlock don't really go out on dates, since it's not them, but they do spend nights together. Usually it's a spontaneous decision, John will be sitting, usually in his pajamas, watching something or other on the tellie when Sherlock will come over and sit with him, taking his hand and watching whatever television program, though often after too long he starts yelling at the tellie depending on the program.

They aren't clingy, they aren't overly affectionate, and their relationship is progressing rather slowly as far as how other people would perceive it, but for now what they have is what they need and what they want. There's no discussion about it, it's just seems to be a silent agreement before them that this is it. For both of them. All they want or need is each other, in the relationship department. Whatever they decide for it to be.

While John is in class, Sherlock leaves the flat, wanting to update certain parts of his mental map of London, so he starts walking. He knows John would not approve since this is not a good part of London, but he can take care of himself more than the ex soldier seems to realize. He hands some money to one of the homeless that he sees occasionally, working on his Homeless Network, an idea he came up with a few weeks ago and has started to implement. He continues to walk, finally slipping into one of the pubs that he visits sometimes - a rather posh one, even if he'd never tell anyone that - when it starts to drizzle outside.

Considering for a few moments, he removes the scarf from around his neck and shrugs out of his jacket, laying it over a stool beside the one he sits on at the bar, before he glances at the bartender. "Tea." He requests of the bartender. Thankfully this is the type of place that serves more than just alcohol. It is a bit posh after all.

Sherlock barely glances over when someone sides up next to him and he lets out a little sigh, annoyed because this is the last person he wants to see. "Victor." He greets as he turns to glance around at the other patrons.

"Sherlock.. it's been a while." Victor says as he turns toward the detective, leaning against the bar in what is meant to be an alluring manner, but it clearly has no effect. "Where have you been hiding yourself? We haven't seen you in class." To anyone else, he might be considered a charming man and in another lifetime the detective might have fallen to his charms but he's already got someone waiting for him at home.

"I decided to take a year off." Sherlock says simply, then adds, "And now I may not return, I've found something far more challenging, and not something I need a degree for." He continues to keep the same flat, uninterested tone, only sparing Victor another glance, not wanting to get caught up in a conversation with him. When his tea arrives, he pulls it toward him a little, putting the sugar in before he lifts it to sip it lightly.

Victor smiles as he continues to watch Sherlock, leaning toward him a little and dropping his voice into a decidedly suggestive register. "Well, if you're looking for something to occupy your mind, and something interesting, I have two suggestions.." He says with a little smirk as he looks at the other youth.

Snorting a little after sipping his tea, Sherlock glances at Victor again, the tone having no effect on him as he thinks of John, sitting at home, at their flat, probably doing homework or something. "There is nothing you have to offer, Victor, that I could possibly be interested in." He observes as he finally turns his attention to Victor, though it's more because he's wary of the other man now.

After a discreet glance around, Victor takes a small baggie out of his pocket and puts it on the bar near Sherlock's tea. "This could give you a little pick me up. You can't imagine the rush, Sherlock. It focuses everything. You've said your mind is just too busy, I'll bet you a tenner this could help you with that little problem." He says as he taps the little bag.

A glance at the bag is given before Sherlock looks back up at Victor. He connects the dots, the symptoms, and finally figures out how high Victor is at the moment. He sees where the habit will bring the young man, and he thinks about what John has told him about his own path. Slowly, he finishes his tea, and then slowly gets up, picking up his coat and sliding the small bag back toward Victor. "No, thank you. I already have something to help focus me, and I have to get back to him now. I have no interested in associating with you as long as you are drugged up as you are. I hope you will see reason and straighten yourself up." He says before he puts his coat and scarf on, flipping his collar up and putting his hands in his pockets before he turns and walks out. It's on his way back to the flat when he passes by a certain store that makes him slow down, and then stop, staring at something in the window, and on a whim he goes in to make a purchase.

When Sherlock finally gets back home, John looks up from his laptop, and he does a little double take because even though it's the same man who has come through the door dozens of times before, he still feels the need to put his laptop aside and slowly get up to approach the man. Because there is one thing that is very different this time.

"You bought the bloody coat."

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**I am so sorry this has taken me so long! I just lost direction, but now I have a destination in mind again and a few more things that I know that I want to do. :) I hope you all aren't too disappointed in me!**

**I hope you enjoy this, and see how a few more things have changed.**

**As always, reviews/comments welcome!**


	19. Chapter 19

"I remember you saying something about a Belstaff..." Sherlock admits, hands in the pockets of the long coat, scarf around his neck and the collar flipped up on the coat. He can't help but smile briefly as he sees the look on John's face, reaching up to finally remove his scarf and put it aside.

John can't help but chuckle a little, reaching up and running his hands down over the lapels of his jacket. "I didn't tell you which one, though. I just gave you a brand. And you picked out the same bloody coat." He says in amazement, shaking his head for a few moments. "With your collar up, and your bloody cheekbones." He chuckles a little, before he grabs the lapels and pulls the taller man down a little to give him a soft kiss, amused and happy at the same time.

Sherlock lets his hands rest on the other man's waist, curling his fingers into another of John's stellar jumpers, responding to his kiss before he briefly smiles afterwards. "Glad you approve." he says before he steps back and slips out of the jacket easily, hanging it up before he turns back to John. "Tea?" He asks hopefully, going over to pick a book off one of his piles to look it over with a little frown. And while he now has the jacket, his fashion sense hasn't quite caught up to his other self, still wearing jeans and t-shirts at the moment.

Sighing a little and shaking his head for a few moments, John smirks. "By which you mean that you want me to make it." He notes as he watches Sherlock, moving over to the kitchen to start tea, not even feeling the need to fight over something like that anymore. It's just one of Sherlock's little quirks.

While John is making the tea, Sherlock moves around the living room, not wanting to tell John about the encounter with Victor and the drugs just yet. So instead he decides to be nosy, sitting down in his soldier's chair in order to look at the laptop. "John, what is this?" he asks, not sure what exactly he's seeing on the screen. "The blog of John H Watson?" He asks as he glances over his shoulder at John.

Not alarmed by Sherlock's nosiness anymore, John glances over at him. "It's a blog, Sherlock. Specifically a place where I can write up our cases, the interesting ones at least." He says as he finishes up the tea and brings over the mugs, handing one to Sherlock before he sits on the arm of the chair. "It's something that I used to do. We ended up getting quite a few clients off of it, somehow." He admits as he takes a sip of his tea. "But mostly I did it for me. I like writing up our cases, even if I'm we are the only ones who will be reading them." He says quietly, leaning back a little before reaching out one hand and stroking along the back of Sherlock's neck, slowly caressing the pale skin there.

Leaning back slightly into the hand, Sherlock seems confused. "Why would anyone want to read about our cases?" he asks as he glances up at John curiously for a few moments, then he looks back at the screen, reading over what John has written so far. "You are certainly romantic in your descriptions of me." he says with a small frown.

"Everyone's a critic." John says with a little laugh, shaking his head as he sips his tea, his fingers continuing their gentle caresses of the back of Sherlock's neck gently. "Come on, let me at least finish the entry before you start critiquing it."

Arching an eyebrow but pressing back into John's hand a little, Sherlock scans over the entry. "I have a website." He points out as if John didn't know that, not knowing if the older man does know about it or not.

"Yes, I know you have a website, Sherlock, but to be honest, this sort of explanation of a case is much more interesting to the common person than your website is, as brilliant as you are, and as meticulous a scientist you are.." John leans over to kiss the top of his head gently. "Now get up so I can finish." He says in a firmer tone, standing and finishing his tea

Sherlock doesn't move just yet, though he does put the laptop aside, reaching out to take John's hand gently. "I saw someone I knew from University in a pub today when I went to get some tea." He says quietly, deciding to fess up and focusing on their hands together.

Being able to sense that whatever Sherlock wants to say is important to him, John squeezes the younger man's hand, tilting his head to the side. "Oh?" he asks curiously. "Who was it?" He asks, not able to prevent himself, going through any possible names Sherlock ever gave him as to the people he knew in his past.

"Mmm. His name is Victor. Very charming man, he tried to flirt with me a few times but I was able to stay away from him. We had a few classes together. He attempted to get me to take cocaine." he says as he looks up at John finally. "I declined, and left." he says quietly as he continues to watch the older man.

John's breath leaves his lungs as he feels like his body was just squeezed, and he takes a deep breath for a moment. "Thank you, Sherlock." he says as he leans down, giving his lips a soft kiss. He remembers the name Victor from some ramblings of Sherlock's, and he got the impression that he was the one who got Sherlock onto drugs in the first place. And if he was as charming and personable as Sherlock is saying, it may be what drove him away from relationships in general as well. That one man could have changed everything in the course of Sherlock's life if he hadn't turned him down. "Why did you turn it down?" He asks, wanting to know the reason, needing to know.

Those mercurial eyes turn up to deep blue for a few moments, before Sherlock's brows draw together slightly in his confused look. "I promised you I wouldn't, John." he points out as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. "He wasn't nearly as charming as I remember. Not when I thought about you waiting for me." He looks away, still not feeling comfortable with a lot of emotional conversations.

Fortunately for both of them, in this aspect John is not very British, and he's more comfortable with his emotions. Shifting around to the front of the chair, the former soldiers pulls on Sherlock's hand until the detective stands up, then he slips his hand around the back of the younger man's neck to stroke the skin lightly, pulling him down for a brief kiss.

"You amazing man. You always surprise me. You just keep making me fall in love with you all over again."

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**Alright, I might be back on the ball as far as this story goes. Even if the chapters are kind of short. I have no set schedule for any of my updates anymore, but I will update one story every day, if not two, I just don't know which ones. :) I will try not to go more than two days before I update a particular story, that is my goal at least.**

**Thank you to everyone's wonderful reviews, I look forward to them a lot!**

**Comments/reviews are always welcome!**


	20. Chapter 20

Another few weeks go by, ones that besides a few easy cases, are relatively uneventful. John is heading back to the shops when the slick black car pulls up beside him. He sighs a little, and then turns, opening the passenger's side door and sliding in. This time, there's a familiar woman sitting there. "Hello." he says with a little smile. "So where are we going today? Abandoned warehouse, perhaps someplace with water, a lovely view?" he asks curiously of the woman.

The dark-haired woman, who will one day be known as Anthea, glances at John before shaking her head. "No." She says casually before looking back on her phone and starting to send a few texts out, not as nimble as she will be on her blackberry, but she obviously has good phone skills.

Realizing that he's not going to get any more information out of the woman, John is a little amused as he looks out the window, watching as the streets pass them by, a little surprised that they stop in front of a somewhat posh building. Slowly, he gets out to follow Anthea into the building and up to an office. The entire building seeming rather official. When he finds Mycroft sitting behind a rather pretentious desk, it doesn't surprise him, and he sighs as he walks in. "Well, this is a bit nicer than our usual meeting spots, Mycroft." He greets as he walks over to stand in front of the desk, hands clasped behind his back.

Mycroft looks up, a fake smile crossing his face. "Indeed. I merely have quite a lot of work to do, Mr. Watson." He says as he looks at the papers on his desk. "I have seen you on these.. cases.. with Sherlock. You seem to be quite good at moderating my brother. And since you two have become rather more intimately acquainted, I wanted to let you know that I will be.. discontinuing my surveillance on my brother. I am going to leave him in your very capable hands." He explains quietly as he shuffles some papers around. "I have found over these past few months that you will keep Sherlock safe, at the expense of your own safety at times. I can wish nothing more for my brother. Please do tell him, and send him my regards. I look forward to seeing you at family Christmases." he says quietly, not quite as jaded yet by the government and the power he gains. He may actually still have brotherly concern for Sherlock.

A little surprised, John finally just nods a little. "Thank you. Uh, that.. that means a lot, actually. I'm sure Sherlock will be happy to hear it. Maybe you could come round for dinner, sometime.." he offers as he watches Mycroft, wanting to repair the relationship if he can.

"As much as I appreciate the offer, Mr. Watson, I believe it's a little premature, don't you think?" Mycroft asks curiously as he watches John, then waves his hand a little. "Please tell my assistant where you wish to be dropped off." It's a clear dismissal, especially when he turns back down to look at the papers in front of him.

Feeling like he's been thrown for a bit of a loop, John turns and heads out, shaking his head for a few moments, and still feeling that way as he gets back to Baker Street. He doesn't have long to stay in that way though as Sherlock has a case that he sweeps him off to, and while he does relay the message to a very skeptical Sherlock, there is nothing else that can get discussed before they arrive at the crime scene.

Lestrade is waiting for them when they get there and he smiles. "John, Sherlock, good to see you. Before I let you onto the crime scene, there's a few things we need to settle." he says before he holds up a manila envelope and holds it out toward Sherlock. "I need these filled out and returned to me by tomorrow. Papers we have to have on file at New Scotland Yard." He says before he smirks a little as he looks at the younger man. "And there's some for you as well, John." He then holds up two laminated badges. "I got it pushed through to let you two be official consultants to Scotland Yard. You'll work with me primarily, and let me know when you get your degree, John, we'll enter that into record." He says with a small nod of his head.

For the second time today, John feels flabbergasted and out of his element as he takes one of the cards, looking down at it for a few moments, before he pins it to his jacket, "Thank you, Lestrade." He says as he offers his hand to the other man, shaking it firmly.

Sherlock sighs a little as he looks at the plastic covered paper, frowning at it but he dutifully attaches it to his jacket after glancing at John. He doesn't think it's necessary, clearly, but he has learned to take his cues from John sometimes in these instances. He takes the manila envelope and immediately passes it over to John. "The crime scene?" He prompts as he looks at Lestrade.

Greg chuckles a little as he nods to them both. "Alright.. this way.." He says as he leads the way onto the crime scene. "May not mean much to you, Sherlock, but I'm not going to keep you in the shadows and take credit for all the clues you give us." he says before he shakes his head. "Wouldn't be fair to either of us." He decides as he leads the way inside.

John steps to the side to let Sherlock into the room first, then he claps Greg on the shoulder gently, still surprised but extraordinarily pleased.

"You're a good man, Greg."

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**Another short little chapter. I'm winding this story up. I know these last chapters won't be up to my usual quality, but I will do my best to satisfy everyone's curiosity.**

**Thank you to everyone who has followed and reviewed, you guys are amazing and I am sorry that I couldn't do more on this, but it's not as fun to write this anymore, and I have to force myself to do it. I would rather finish it up than leave everyone hanging. **

**One or two more chapters. Reviews/comments welcome!**


	21. Chapter 21

While Sherlock may officially help the police, he still manages to keep himself out of the papers and off the tellie for a while, not wanting the publicity and Scotland Yard is more than happy to take it for themselves, with Lestrade being the one getting the credit for the rise of cases closed within the department.

The fact that he has been able to close such a high percentage of his cases, and close quite a few cold cases as well, means that a year after he meets one Sherlock Holmes, he is promoted to Detective Inspector. During that same year, John graduates and gets his doctorate, officially becoming Dr. John Watson. And even though he doesn't plan to use it in any sort of practice this time around. At least not when he has a crazy detective to chase after. It's not as if he could hold a job down that way anyway, and since they have Sherlock's trust fund and the money from consulting with Scotland Yard, they don't really need the extra money from him working anyway.

Their relationship gets stronger, and they get through injuries and hard cases together, finally giving up any sort of pretense and John moves into Sherlock's bedroom, though he keeps his own still in case he wants some alone time, which eventually happens. There are still his nightmares to work through sometimes but it's easier when Sherlock is there when he wakes up. Of course, that also doubles to get Sherlock on steady sleeping cycle most of the time, when he's not on a case at least.

Perhaps because they've been at the department longer, or because they are officially employed as consultants of Scotland Yard, when they are finally introduced to Anderson and Donovan, they are treated with much more respect, even if the two might not like Sherlock personally, they are at least able to be professional.

This time, when Sherlock goes to Florida to help a certain lady's husband get the death penalty, John is by his side, helping to cement the case even more, and a year after that, they move into 221B Baker Street. For John, this is like finally arriving home.

After they are finally settled in and unpacked, one day John grabs Sherlock as he tries to go by in his dressing gown and pajama pants, pulling him close and giving him a passionate kiss. "Now everything is perfect." he says as he slides his hands under the dressing gown and looks over the toned, fit body of his lover. "Go lock the door, I don't want to give Mrs. Hudson a heart attack if she sees what I'm about to do to you." He says with a slightly feral grin on his face.

Needless to say that night they thoroughly break in 221B, and Mrs. Hudson listens to her TV with the volume up.

Many, many things are different for John and Sherlock, and over the years John stops comparing the two, he stops even thinking about the other Sherlock, though sometimes he has moments where he worries about the other version of his lover, wondering what happened to him and if he's ok. But those times become few and far between as he forgets that other life and focuses on the one he's living.

Mycroft stays true to his word and doesn't watch Sherlock's every move. And in return they go to family Christmas', the brother repairing their relationship to the point they can be in each other's company for a good hour before the snarking begins. But some things can't be fixed, even if Mycroft starts working on a small present for the two of them.

And when the day arrives for that present to be given, John is in Baker Street with Sherlock when they hear the news that same-sex marriages have finally been legalized. A small smile crosses John's face as his mind follows that to the inevitable conclusion. But what happens next is not the way John imagines it going.

"Finally!" The exclamation comes from the younger man in the kitchen who is wearing one of his sharp suits, the purple shirt that John loves so much. He strides out with a sly grin toward John, being more open even with strangers and a bit less acerbic at this time in his life because of John's influence from a younger age and the lack of the more painful memories.

"John." Sherlock says as he looks down at the older man. "When we met, you were a mystery to me, a puzzle to be worked out. You had the upper hand, knowing so much about me, and it was frustrating. Despite all of that, I was fascinated with you from the start, for so many reasons, and I was smitten soon after that. It didn't take long for me to be able to say you had my heart. The past ten years have been full of so many memories, I couldn't imagine my life without you anymore. I wouldn't want to live a life without you. And I want to prove my commitment, to anyone and everyone." He says, smirking as he watches the confusion on his doctor's face, before he slowly gets down on one knee and holds out a box toward John. "John Hamish Watson.. I am normally rubbish with these things, you know that. But.. you know me better than anyone. Will you marry me?" he asks as he opens the plain black ring box, showing a plain gold band on the inside, not having thought either of them would want anything fancy.

Shocked beyond words since he did not in a million years see this coming, John just stares at Sherlock for a few moments, before he lets out the breath he didn't realize he was holding. He laughs out of shock, before he nods.

"Yes, you brilliant, crazy man.. Of course I will. I love you. I will follow you anywhere you lead."

The End.

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**That's it! Just a little chapter to wrap up where these boys are going to go, and the few differences there end up being. And that they of course, end up back at Baker Street. Because that's required.**

**Thank you to everyone who has supported this story through your follows, favorites, and reviews. You guys are awesome, and it made me smile to know so many of you were getting enjoyment out of what I originally intended to be a one-shot, and even then thought it was kind of a crackpot idea. I have a few other stories in the works, and I hope that if you enjoyed this, you'll go check out some of my other stories and one-shots. **

**I hope no one is too disappointed by the somewhat abrupt ending, but this stopped being as fun for me to write, and as much as I love writing for the fans I have on here, I ultimately write and post because I enjoy it. I'm just glad I was at a place that I could wrap it up and give you guys some closure on it.**

**Thank you all again!**


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